#whether that's clinging or from a distance

[mc-critical]

1.06 / 2.09 (33)

[windcarvedlyre]

Like a week ago I saw a meme video call shadowvanilla fans oncelerfuckers. It's been haunting me since.

[asaarii]

ft: mainstream!mark and variants (mohawk, viltrum, omni, sheisty, sinister) (invincible) reader: fem wc: 2604 summary: hey siri is it gay to want to crack the female version of my dead best friend? cw: canon typical violence, foul language, and the variants are kinda sorta freaky in this requested by: @sophsthebest

this was so fun to write lowk and I would've been done faster if not for the blood moon event in dbd so err yeah I'm going to go die in a hole now

Life is strange, really. 

One moment, you’re helping refold shirts because some people don’t even have the decency to put stuff back to where they found it, and the next, an international warning tells you to stay inside because there are evil variants of your boyfriend now roaming the Earth with unclear intentions.

You share a look with your coworker, who looks just as off-put by the information, her fingers curling around her phone as her brow dips. Just as her lips part to speak, the first building falls. It’s only a few blocks away, and the ground beneath your feet trembles at its sudden collapse.

You hear the screams of those out on the street, internally debating whether or not to follow suit until a notification from Mark lights up your screen, the ridiculous nickname you’d set when you were twelve a small comfort to your racing heart.

MarkyWarky: please tell me you’re okay

You: i’m fine

You: i’m just scared mark 

You: why are there so many versions of you anyway…

MarkyWarky: i wish i could tell you

MarkyWarky: just stay put alright im otw

The message does little to soothe, and you can’t help but stare at your screen with nothing but apprehension. Your coworker is quick to seize you by the arm when the sound of collapsing buildings and wailing cars draws closer, ushering you into the break room with the floor manager as though the small, unwindowed room would protect you from the raw strength of a Viltrumite.

“Holy shit, we’re gonna die…We’re actually going to die…” The floor manager, Kasandra, curls into herself with tears already welled in her eyes as she chokes back a sob. No one says anything, unable to face the grim reality at steak when debris begins to crumble around you. You all huddle into the furthest corner as your hope in Mark begins to wane.

Small pieces of rubble hit your head as you tuck your head tightly into Kasandra’s shaking shoulder, the lights overhead flickering violently when the ceiling begins to cave in on itself. There’s no use holding back the tears now and you can’t hide your anguished cries, unheard over the collapsing infrastructure.

This is it, you think, mentally saying your goodbyes to everyone you’ve grown to love. Amber. Eve. William. Mark—oh, Mark. The annoying boy next door who grew to be your first love. 

Sparks flare as the light above you finally collapses, but you don’t feel a throbbing pain in your head or death’s cold embrace, instead, you find yourself wrapped in a familiar pair of arms, still clinging to an almost catatonic Kasandra while your coworker grips the forearm wrapped around the three of you.

“I’ve got you,” a voice in your ear says, and you can feel the tears begin to well once more, though, this time out of relief. Mark is quick to shoot from the rubble, hold unwavering before he sets the three of you down and urges you to run to safety.

Your two coworkers are quick to flee, but you stupidly linger, worry etched onto your features at the sight of Mark’s beaten face and tattered suit. In the distance, you can see Eve facing valiantly against a variant, the odd cloth mask adorned on his face his most defining trait. She pants, her palms facing outward to just barely raise a shield against his erratic punches.

Mark pulls your attention back to him, face pinched as his thumb traces your lower lip in an attempt to ground both you and himself. His lips are soft against your forehead for a brief moment before he pulls back, staring at you through his cracked goggles with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“I love you,” you whisper, stroking his bruised cheek softly.

“I love you too. But, you need to go. Now. I’ll check on you soon, promise.”

So, you run as fast as your legs can carry you, doing your best to ignore the ruins and corpses that seem to block every turn.

You don’t get far.

A shadow overhead blocks the sun—its presence so oppressive and commandeering that it freezes you in place.

“Another survivor?” 

You can’t bring yourself to turn despite the way your heart lurches at the familiarity of the voice. Your breath hitches when the shadow lowers—whatever twisted version of Mark this is drawing ever closer like a lion to its prey.

“I thought those other two were the last of them, but what’s one more?” The voice is cold, almost clinical, very unlike the warmth that radiated off of your Mark. A glove is quick to find purchase on your throat, and you glance down to see the red rubber shining beneath the sun.

Blood coats the hand, tinting the glove an even darker shade of red than what you’d first surmised. You try not to think about the warmth of it as his grip grows tighter, making it harder to breathe, but not enough to kill, like he’s messing with you in some cruel, twisted way.

“You’re this dimension’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” His lips press against the shell of your ear, jerking your body to face the fight between Mark and the clothed one from before alongside Eve, who reaches out to you weakly before eventually crashing against the side of one of the buildings. Your Mark wheezes, clutching at his chest when the cloth-masked variant throws him into a nearby building by the hair. “Pathetic.”

The sound barrier tears as another Mark enters the fray, his mohawk wild and unkempt in the wind as he grins at the sight of battle, though there’s no amusement behind his smile. “Who the hell do you think you are running off like that?” For a moment, his wild eyes slip to where you and your captor reside, a flicker of…something flashing through his before it fizzles away. “Keeping hostages alive? Didn’t peg you for the cruel type.”

You barely register the click of the Invincible’s tongue over the roaring beat of your heart, his thumb remaining stationary over your pulse point; a warning. He could snap your neck at any given moment, and you don’t know what’s stopping him, but you’re grateful for whatever’s causing him to hesitate.

“Come on, just put her out of her misery already,” the mohawked Mark goads with a small shrug as he pulls his fist back to punch your Mark into the concrete when the cloth-masked variant throws him in his direction. Cracks split beneath your feet at the sheer force, the ground almost giving way, but all you can do is watch as your Mark slowly gets up from the crater his body had formed. 

He locks eyes with you, something snapping inside of him at the sight of the variant clad in a suit nearly identical to Omni-Man’s wrapping his hand around your throat.

“[Name]!” He calls out, bursting free from the grasp of the two other Marks with a renewed sense of vigor. 

Time seems to freeze the moment your name leaves his bloodied lips, the Mark holding you hostage too stunned to react when your Mark’s fist collides with his jaw hard enough to send him three blocks away. It isn’t long until you’re swept into Mark’s arms, the hold both protective and possessive as he glares at the other two, his chest heaving with each labored breath he struggles to take.

“No fuckin’ way.” The mohawked variant blinks slowly, his lips pulling into a mix of a grimace and a smirk. “That’s unfair on so many levels.” He turns to the Mark in a cloth mask who seems to share the same sentiment, mumbling under his breath about how unfair it is that this version of him gets the hot babe.

Omni-Man Mark merely scoffs when he floats back, his suit still pristine as though he’d never been thrown at all while he crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing the way you tremble in this version of him’s hold. You aren’t the best friend he’d killed mercilessly back in his dimension. Here, you were a woman—his woman. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t kill two birds with one stone.

A best friend and a wife. Who would’ve thought?

While he’d never seen the other, male, version of you in a romantic light, his heart stirs at the thought of taking this version of you for himself. It’s not like it’ll take much to kill this Mark; he’s already as good as dead anyway—

“Is everything alright here?” Clad in white and silver, yet another version of Mark descends from the sky like some sort of disgraced angel. 

“Ugh, why are you here?” Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes obnoxiously, his gaze only briefly flickering to the new variant.

“Angstrom sent me to see if you all were sticking to the plan, which clearly you aren’t.”

“Aww, the lil’Viltrum baby can’t do anything without a mission? How sad!” He bats his lashes dramatically before sneering. “What are you gonna do next, bark? Who gives a shit about the plan? You’re acting as if you weren’t gonna kill him after anyway!” 

The Mark in the Viltrum uniform chooses not to dignify him with a response.

Unbothered by his counterpart’s nonchalance, the mohawked Mark sets his sights back on you, spreading his arms wide as if to welcome you in with a hug. “Hey, [Name], it’s just me. Just Mark. Your best friend, remember? We used to play CoD and shit when your parents were out.”

Viltrum Mark’s brows furrow at the familiar name, steady gaze finally paying you mind as you try to sink further into the Mark of this dimension’s arms. You’re a lot…softer than he recalls you being, your form far less filled out; almost feminine. But, that couldn’t be right, right? How cruel would it be for this version of him to have the perfect mate whilst he, while grateful for your prior companionship, was stuck with nothing more than a best friend? One that he’d ultimately killed for resisting.

Surely, his brain is playing tricks on him.

Then he hears it—they all hear it.

The small terrified whimper you let out, the sound almost heavenly as you try to curl into Mark like your life depends on it. Which you suppose it does at this very moment.

A collective groan settles across all the present variations of Mark, all differing levels of arousal. They can practically taste the fear emanating off of you, stalking closer like a pack of deranged wolves.

Disgust pulls at Mark’s lips at the look in their eyes, his arms trembling around you as the last line of defense between you and these monstrous versions of him. “What the hell are you guys on about?” He seethes, only to be met by a suffocating silence.

Viltrum Mark appears in front of you before you and Mark can process his presence, tearing you out of your boyfriend’s arms despite your screaming protests. His grip is firm, but it’s the underlying softness in it that has you trembling with both fear and confusion. One of his hands finds your chin, stroking the contour of your jaw while his thumb gently presses down on your lower lip in a similar fashion that your Mark had done earlier.

“You’re [Name].” His face twists with perplexion as he speaks. “But, you’re so soft.” You feel his other hand fall from your arm, settling on your hip as if to prove a point. He squeezes and prods the fat, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the soft skin underneath, his fingers splaying against your stomach while his nose buries itself in your neck. “You’d be a great mother.”

No.

No.

No.

This can’t be happening—

You’re pulled into another set of arms. These ones leaner yet more possessive than the Viltrum Mark’s. But not yours.

“Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you.” Mohawk Mark’s voice rasps mockingly above you, his arm curling around you and dangerously close to your breasts. You know he feels your heart stop, snorting cruelly as he pulls you flush against him. His gloved hand tilts your chin up to him cruelly, relishing in the way tears well in your eyes.

“P-Please…” You weakly claw at his wrist despite knowing how useless it is in comparison to his innate strength.

Holy fuck, he could get used to the sound of that.

Man, why couldn’t you be a girl in his world too? Oh, the things he would do to you. How he would ruin you. He wonders if you’re similar to his [Name], the [Name] who trusted him to do the right thing only to die trying to stop what’s already been done. Do you play the same sport as your male counterpart? Enjoy the same food? Ah, whatever, you’re still his, no matter his relation to you. Best friend or otherwise.

“Get away from her you fucking freak!” Your Mark’s garbled voice reaches your ears, his fist colliding with the side of the mohawked variant’s head, sending him careening into the white-clad Viltrumite. Mark doesn’t even get the chance to look over you before he shoots into the air with you in his hold, tucking your head into his shoulder as he whispers calming words into the crown of your head. “I’ve got you, baby,” he echoes his prior sentiment, flying as fast as he can with the cloth-mask and Omni-Man wannabe hot on his tail.

A familiar red glove catches Mark’s leg, snapping it easily. Mark screams, his teeth grinding as he pivots his other leg directly into the variant’s face, no doubt breaking his nose before he crashes into the cloth-masked Mark, who yells obscenities as the two of them crash into the city below.

Finally, silence settles between the two of you. Heavy with confusion. Heavy with fear.

“What the hell was that…” You cling to him, trembling like a newborn fawn in his hold.

“I—I don’t know.” He buries his nose in your neck as he lowers into a desolate field miles away from any civilization, breathing in your comforting scent beneath the smell of iron and ash that seem to cling to your skin while he settles against a tree. The field is peaceful; untouched by the destruction that plagues the rest of the world.

“...What about Eve and the others?” You hesitate, palms hovering over his broken leg to do your best to put the limb back together. The bone melds back together grotesquely, it's disgusting snap a sound you think you’ll never get used to.

“Eve slipped away before things got ugly. I’m not too sure about the others…” He lets out a low hiss, his fingers digging into the ground when his skin gets pulled tautly back into place. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I won’t let them get to you, not as long as I’m still breathing, alright?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, collapsing into his chest as you try not to think about everything you’ve lost in such a short amount of time. He kisses your forehead gently, leaning back against the tree for only a moment of respite.

“Aww, what a cute sight.” A patronizing voice overhead has both of you snapping your heads to the sound. Clad in yellow and black with a billowing cape behind him, this version of Mark sneers, his gaze looking between you and Mark. His brows raise beneath his mask, lips forming something akin to a sadistic grin. “Well, well, well. You’re looking a bit different here, aren’t you, [Name]?”

Shit.

©asarii 2025 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site or run my works through ai

[xhyjin]

husband toji! who would try his best to spoil you, even when he’s struggling financially. you want a romantic getaway? don’t worry, because he’s already saving up, cutting corners wherever he can, just to see the joy on your face when he surprises you with the trip of your dreams.

husband toji! he isn’t the most romantic man, but he tries his best. when he notices the small smile on your face as you watch a man surprise his partner with flowers hidden behind his back, he makes a mental note. the next time he’s away on a mission that lasts too long, he shows up at your door with a slightly crumpled bouquet in hand, looking a little awkward but secretly proud when he sees your face light up.

husband toji! who loves when you fall asleep on him—not just because he enjoys running his fingers through your hair as you rest on his chest, but also because it’s the perfect opportunity to snap a picture of the two of you. with a smirk on his face in the photo, he sends it to shiu with the caption, “bet you don’t have a cutie laying on you right now.” it always earns him an immediate middle-finger reply from shiu, which only makes his grin wider.

husband toji! who never expected to find himself in this position again—so lovestruck and soft for you that it sometimes scares him. he’s torn between wanting to bare his soul to you and protect you from the weight of his past. he doesn’t know if he should tell you about his late wife and the son he left behind, afraid it might change the way you see him, but also yearning for you to understand the parts of him he’s kept hidden for so long.

husband toji! who knows it’s wrong, knows he should let you be independent, but he can’t help himself. when you think he’s at work, he’s actually following you from a distance, keeping an eye on you to make sure you’re safe. the guilt of shadowing you like a stalker eats at him, but the thought of failing to protect you is even worse. so, he watches quietly, torn between trusting the world and trusting only himself to keep you safe.

husband toji! who finds himself spending money on “useless” and “childish” things like cute plushies or clothes simply because they remind him of you. he’ll grumble about it under his breath, but the moment he sees your delighted smile when he gives them to you, he knows it’s worth every penny.

husband toji! who doesn’t prepare for missions by training or strategizing beforehand, but by taking a long shower using your body wash, your shampoo, your conditioner, and your lotion—anything that smells like you. he sprays your perfume all over his body and clothes, not caring if anyone (shiu) questions why he smells so feminine and sweet. the comforting scent of you clings to him like a shield, grounding him when he’s away and reminding him of the warmth waiting for him at home.

husband toji! who secretly adores when you ask for his help with the little things. need help putting on your necklace for date night? he’s already behind you, gently moving your hair aside, his fingers brushing your skin as he clasps it on, all while staring at you lovingly through the mirror. need help opening a jar? don’t worry—he’s leaning over you in an instant, taking the jar from your delicate hands and twisting it open with ease. before you can thank him, he dips a finger into the jam, tastes it, and smirks, “almost as sweet as you,” he whispers in your ear, walking away just as he catches the sight of your flustered reflection in the marble counter.

husband toji! who sometimes forgets the strength of his own body, so he’s always extra, extra gentle with you. whether it’s holding your hand, pulling you into a hug, or brushing a strand of hair from your face, he moves with deliberate care, afraid of even the slightest chance of hurting you. his touch, though strong, always feels like the softest embrace, as if he’s protecting something he treasures more than anything.

husband toji! who picks up your hobbies just to have more in common with you, even if they’re things he never imagined himself doing—like painting, baking, or knitting. at first, he fumbles awkwardly, grumbling about how “this isn’t his thing,” but before long, he finds himself enjoying it more than he expected. the real joy, though, comes from seeing your excitement as you share these moments together, making him realize he’d try anything if it meant spending more time with you.

husband toji! who, after a gut-wrenching moment during one of his missions, realizes he doesn’t want to do it anymore. he doesn’t want to risk his life when all he wants is to spend it with you. knowing it’ll be hard to convince shiu, he brings you along under the pretense that you’re just meeting his friend. as you take a seat beside him, your face glowing with excitement at finally meeting one of his friends, toji and shiu sit across and beside you, their expressions serious as they speak in coded phrases to keep you blissfully unaware of toji’s real job. toji glances at you, his heart softening at your smile, and silently vows to make his case to shiu—because you’re his reason to walk away from it all.

husband toji! who will gladly hold your purse without hesitation when it keeps slipping off your shoulder, or carry your heels in one hand while giving you his slippers to wear, walking barefoot himself without a second thought. he doesn’t care about the stares or the inconvenience—your comfort is all that matters to him, and he’d do anything to make sure you’re at ease.

husband toji! whose favorite hobby, out of all the ones he picked up from you, is coming home to find you asleep on his side of the bed, wearing his tee and boxers, clutching his pillow to your chest. he gently removes the pillow, replacing it with himself as he slides into bed, pulling you close. with his arms around you, he kisses your forehead and whispers softly in your ear how grateful he is for you and how deeply he loves you, even if you can only hear him in your dreams.

[nanamiskentos]

JUDAS (IS THE DEMON I CLING TO)— 両面宿儺 RYOMEN SUKUNA

PLOT 𐙚 After Gojo’s death and the collapse of the jujutsu world, you were taken, not killed, by the King of Curses. Sukuna decided you were to remain at his side, whether you liked it or not. Now, you spend your days silent and simmering, trapped in an estate built on ash and bone. And you hate Ryomen Sukuna. Hate the way blood perpetually follows him, streaking the wooden floors. You also try to pretend that you don't spend your nights with fantasies of the rough grip of his inked hands on your hips.

FEATURING Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

CW 𐙚 afab!reader, enemies to lovers, Sukuna Won AU, implied past Gojo x Reader, másturbation (f), trueform!Sukuna, incorrect jujutsu/domains lore, creámpie, máting press, crude talk, mentions of blood, injury and violence. dp!Sukuna, CÓNSENSUAL (c/nc) but if dark romance makes you uncomfortable, please be wary! MDNI

WC 𐙚 5.4k

NOTE 𐙚 this isn't a genre i dabble in much but i wrote this as a gift for a very dear friend 🎁

You had been dragged through the wreckage, head throbbing, and flanked by two low-grade curses. Their knobby hands clamp around your elbows like damp stone, claws digging just deep enough to sting in the thin winter air.

The atmosphere is ash-choked, acrid as it burns the lining of your nose.

Above, the sky bleeds a violent shade of red, seeping like an infected wound. Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell tolls in a cruel and ceremonial mockery.

You’re not even sure where you are. Maybe this is the ancient heart of jujutsu, the city of Kyoto.

Or perhaps, you’re still stranded in the remains of Gojo’s battlefield, the ruins of Shinjuku.

The curses drag you forward until your knees slam against rough stone. Pain blooms ferociously as your chin knocks downward, gravel grinding into your teeth, and the sharp warmth of iron blooms on your tongue.

“Careful,” one of the curses chitters, reprimanding his companion. The curse has a voice like cracked clay, digits digging deeper into your tired bicep, “Sukuna wants her in one piece. I don’t fancy being flayed for messing up.”

You don’t bother speaking, not even as the sliding doors creak open behind the bone-white torii gate. The air shifts, with cursed energy curling outwards like heavy smoke, thick with the scent of incense and firewood. There’s a sweetness to it, beneath the copper tang of dried blood.

As a sorcerer, you understand that Domains are complicated. Half-real, and half-willed into existence. A metaphysical pocket carved into space.

Over the centuries, countless sorcerers had likely gone mad trying to decipher whether a Domain was tangible or simply a trick of the five senses.

Had things been different, had you not been dragged before a victorious King of Curses, you might have pondered the estate’s nature too. Because it felt real, too solid and too grounded in the bones of the world to be an illusion.

The throne room is dim, and lanterns glow behind crimson silk shades, casting slow-moving shadows over the floors. Despite your tired eyes, it’s hard to miss the striking architecture, dark wood beams and protective spells dangling from the rafters, parchments swaying like ghosts.

Of course, the King of Curses mars the decadent view. All four of his thick arms are draped along a throne, an ivory structure that bears the dull, dried appearance of charred bone.

His bare chest gleams, ridged with muscle and heatless sweat. Rings glint on his fingers, gold and dried sinew, as long, obsidian nails tap lazily against the throne’s edge.

Your gaze drops, instinctively. The lower arms twitch in an almost restless, feline manner. You could almost get lost in the hypnotic vision, were it not for the flash of memory. Gojo Satoru’s corpse, bisected on the snow-dusted pavement of Shinjuku.

Ryomen Sukuna is a monster, make no mistake.

The upper corner of his mouth lifts, but not in a smile. It’s a barbed expression, something more fang than good-will. His voice cuts through the thick air like molten stone, low and mocking, “Kneeling already?”

Your jaw clenches, as an aching pain blooms behind your ears, scorching your temples, while defiance stings your tongue, “Dragged here, actually. Don’t act so surprised.”

Sukuna’s laugh thrumbles through the chamber, dry and humourless like a sour thunderclap, “Still got that mouth.” The King of Curses is musing, head tilting just slightly as dawn-pink hair ripples across his forehead, “Good. I was afraid you’d be broken.”

You lift your chin, dirt-streaked and trembling, “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Sukuna echoes, savouring your words slowly, like a promise, “Mhm. That will do.”

The thick fingers of his lower right-hand twitch, and one of the curses step back as though he has been charged. The other captor hesitates too long; cold grip still latched to your arm. He’s looking between you, his prisoner, and Sukuna, his lord.

A ripple of irritation flashes across Sukuna’s fine features, or at least, the half of his face that isn’t covered in thick, rough plates of hardened flesh, “You may leave us.” His tone leaves no room for suggestion, and the curses dissipate with a hiss.

The room falls into an odd silence. Stretching long enough for the pain to settle in, your knees aching, and arms burning with a tight strain. You feel as though your lungs and heart haven’t caught up from the constant tolls of countless battles. From Gojo’s sudden –

No, don’t go there.

Sukuna shifts, as the throne creaks beneath him as he leans forward, gaze glinting as he coos, “Look at you.” There’s something deceptively soft in his tone now, but it is not pity nor kindness. Curiosity, or hunger, you don’t quite know.

You feel the cursed energy rise as he steps down from the dais. It tightens the air like a noose around your neck. The ground seems to warp with each step he takes, and you can barely breathe through it.

There are ankles on him, coils of gold and iron, resting round the thick jut of tendons. He’s taking his time, not out of grace nor indulgence. And your eyes lift up against your will.

Sukuna is terrifying beautiful.

His face is inked in brutal brushstrokes. The markings carve along the sharp angles of his jaw, and his four eyes are concentric, rust-coloured, as they drag across your form, committing you to memory. But you try to look away, attempt to not track the split tongue that flickers over a fang.

But there’s a heat that coils in your gut anyway. Shameful in a way that makes your heart pound, and your stomach lurch.

Sukuna crouches before you soundlessly. Not a king. Not a god.

A beast.

One hand reaches forward. Not to strike, but to hold. Your chin is caught between a clawed thumb and finger, his touch calloused and searingly warm. Far too intimate, too wrong.

A long nail drags along your jaw, tracing a streak of dried blood, “Yours?”

“Does it matter?”

Sukuna hums, a low sound, almost pleased, “No.”

He gently wipes the blood away, before bringing his thumb to his mouth. Maroon eyes never break contact with yours, and you nearly recoil. Disgust curdles in your stomach, as Sukuna savours it.

You’re jerking back, a mere few inches, before his upper hands shoot out, catching your shoulders and yanking you back forward. Your body collides with his chest, the contact searing like a sharp brand.

“What’s the matter?” Sukuna murmurs, a furnace of air brushing hot against your cheek, “You forget? I did promise to not kill you.”

“Then what do you want?” You grit out, pain splintering behind your temples.

Sukuna’s eyes drop, trailing down your blood-slick chest. The bruises, and the grimy mess of the past few weeks clinging to you. The sorcerer’s gaze lingers where it clearly should not, and there’s a twitch of his reddened mouth as though he’s barely reining something in.

“Is it not obvious?” Sukuna’s voice is like velvet over a knife, “I would have you.”

You blink, “Me?”

It’s stupid, the way the jagged question leaves your lip. Weak, and reeling from both rage and disgust, and something far more traitorous that coils like fire beneath your skin.

“I would have you as my Queen,” Sukuna says easily, “By my side.”

You scoff, mostly to cover the very real pulse of panic that cracks through your ribs. But Sukuna only smiles wider, cruel in his manner, as his grip tightens. Your knees buckle.

“You think I would waste you?” Sukuna murmurs, dragging his lower hands reverently, slowly up your arms, “You fought harder than anyone.” A sneer flickering across his features as his lower lip juts, “Aside from Gojo Satoru, of course.”

Sukuna tilts your face upward, fingers cradling your jaw as if the King of Curses sees you as something fragile. Even worthy of worship.

But you know better, for Ryomen Sukuna does not believe in anything sacred nor holy.

“You made me bleed,” Sukuna muses thoughtfully, “And you are still strong. Still beautiful, even now.”

“You killed – ”

“Yes, yes,” Sukuna interrupts irately, “Spare me the weeping monologue. I killed them all.”

There is no guilt in his tone, no remorse. Your grief and fury is just another discarded page in the story he’s already rewritten.

“But you, I let live,” Sukuna leans in, voice dark and indulgent, “And you will thank me for it.”

You don’t ask what Sukuna does during the day. You don’t want to know.

It’s far easier that way, not wondering which cities lie burning beneath the horizon, or which shrines have been Sliced and Cleaved under the weight of his wrath and lazy hunger. You’ve long since stopped pretending the wind doesn’t carry ash through the open windows, or the sky hasn’t been a sickly, stagnant red for weeks.

Your days are now filled with things that mock comfort. Silk gowns in every shade of shadow, and blood. Combs and ribbons woven through your hair by silent handmaidens with cracked porcelain masks, and soot-darkened fingertips. You sleep on linens, in sprawling, ornate quarters, with no locks.

You hold to your resolve with a white-knuckled grip. You will not scream, nor will you give your husband the satisfaction of tears. And above all, you will not entertain Ryomen Sukuna in any form of conversation.

Especially not when, each night without fail, the King of Curses prowls into the dining quarters like a victorious beast, ivory robes loose, and rivulets of dried blood tacked to his chin. He slams his weight down beside you, all four arms sprawled, and thighs parted indecently, tearing into his food like it still writhes.

But he does not touch you.

Sukuna, for all his cruel jabs and leering glances, has yet to lay a clawed hand on you. It is a thought that you refuse to dwell long upon.

You eat in silence, and you certainly don’t flinch when Sukuna cracks bone in one hand and tosses the shards behind him. You try not to look at the second mouth on his torso, where the skin of his abdomen stretches into a grin.

You hate to admit it, but the icy little shadow trailing behind Sukuna, Uraume, knows how to make a damn good bowl of stew. Fragrant with green onion and wine, rich enough to cut through your ever-present nausea. You chew slowly, contemplatively, and make a mental note.

It might be worth befriending the sour, quiet bastard.

Maybe you could convince Uraume to slip something extra into Sukuna’s next meal. Not enough to kill him, because Sukuna is probably the sort to drink pond water for fun, but enough to leave him doubled over with a stomach-ache. The humbling image is amusing, and you can’t help the twitch of your lips.

“You’re quieter than usual, wife,” Sukuna drawls, tipping a goblet of wine to his lips. You ignore the thin rivulet of red that spills down his chest, straight into the waiting grin of his second mouth, “Not even a nasty look for me tonight?”

You focus on your stew. The heady wine, the sweetness of the fried onion. You’re chewing with purpose and stabbing chunks of beef with more force than strictly necessary. Imagining, quite vividly, what it would feel like to jab him instead.

If Sukuna notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he’s amused, “I look forward to that look, you know,” he murmurs, voice coiling like smoke around your spine, “The one that says you expect me to be grateful you’re here, instead of finding a knife in my ribs.”

You glare into your bowl, slicing meat carefully. You don’t reply.

“That’s the one,” Sukuna laughs, low and rolling, like distant thunder in this broken world.

You jolt when one of his lower hands, the left, reaches for you. Slow, deliberate. It tilts your chin, and you yank back before his grip can tighten. The woven mat beneath you shifts sharply as you stand, breath catching in your throat.

You’re not sure what to say.

Don’t talk to me?

That would be a pointless command, for Sukuna is the only one in this cursed estate with a voice. The others only click and twitch, nodding as if you’re supposed to understand their insect-like chatter.

Don’t touch me?

That one’s worse. That one stings. Because saying it out loud would make it real, and expose the awful, shameful truth.

You can’t bring yourself to say that either.

The rooms have been quiet these past few weeks. Lonely, and lately, far too often, you’ve finished with your own slick fingers buried between your thighs.

Chasing the ghost of ivory hair and blue eyes, and furiously flushing as the image gave way to inked sun and rippling, inked muscles.

And Sukuna, perceptive as he is, seems to know this. He watches you, head titled. Not angry, nor offended. Curious, in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“I like it when you talk back,” Sukuna finally says, voice low. His upper arms drape lazily over the back of his cushion, while his lower hands rest on his thighs, talons twitching like a predator biding its time, “But your body betrays you.”

Sukuna grins, fangs peeking out beneath a wine-red mouth, as though he’s aware of the slow, sticky throb beneath your fine robes, “I wouldn’t have needed Six Eyes to tell me that.”

You spin to leave, with the words blooming on your tongue, detailing exactly what you think Sukuna should do to satisfy himself.

The door slams shut before you reach it, a thud of finality that vibrates up your spine. A pulse follows, not sound, nor touch. You realise it’s the own beat of your heart, thrumming hot.

You freeze.

Sukuna hasn’t moved, not a single inch, but his cursed energy spikes. It wraps around your ankles like invisible chains, slow and deliberate. Then it rises, serpentine and humming, up the backs of your calves, your thighs, blooming heat at the hinges of your knees.

You swallow. Hard. It isn’t painful. But it’s heavy, clinging to your pulse points like it knows you intimately.

“You think I do not notice?” Sukuna’s voice is a slow, scraping murmur, “The way you jolt when I enter. How your thighs press together when I speak. Odd, no? For one who detests me so much.”

You don’t dignify Sukuna with a response. But you don’t deny it, either.

Sukuna stands, towering and bare-chested. The memory of your first night here vividly strikes in your mind once more.

Beautiful, but monstrous.

Holy, but sacrilegious to all you’ve ever held dear.

And yet, so tantalising. You would be lying if you said that you had not spent cold nights in your soft bedding, aching to know the feel of thick fingers in you, ringed with dark ink.

“Say the word,” Sukuna lazily rolls a ring from one hand to the other, “You need only ask.”

His cursed energy is tight. Not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. Your back finds the edge of the long dining table all the same, breath caught as your knees brush carved wood. But Sukuna’s hands remain at his sides. He hasn’t touched you.

But his presence is everywhere.

You glare up at him, voice tight, “Coward. Can’t even touch me without your cursed tricks?”

That earns you a laugh. Low, rough and sharp-edged.

“You think I need to?” Sukuna steps closer, concentric eyes trained on the swan-arch of your neck, “This is still my form of mercy, wife.”

Sukuna lifts a single finger, just one. He runs a dark-tipped claw along the line of your throat. A gesture that could slice your carotid artery cleanly, should Sukuna become careless with the pressure he uses.

But there is no threat in his touch, and your knees buckle at the prospect of moving away.

“I can feel your heart,” Sukuna murmurs, and a snarl dies in your throat. Words meant to tear and strike, for Sukuna has no clue of what truly lies in your heart, for how can he know something he lacks? But it’s a weak retort, and you exhale as another hand rising to rest flat against your sternum, and Sukuna’s eyes narrow, “Here. Beating like a war drum.”

“I hate you,” you snap, voice finally battling it out of your throat.

Never let anyone say you aren’t consistent.

Sukuna smiles, slow. Wolfish, as he brings a third hand to tap at his temple, “Perhaps. Up there.”

But his mouth dips towards your cheek, and the heady scent of pepper and wood-smoke envelops your senses, as he continues, “But down here?”

The heat between your legs is heavy and throbbing, beading at the apex of your thighs.

You can feel it, and you know he does too.

Sukuna always knows.

The silence stretches, and it’s unbearable.

The King of Curses tilts his head, forked tongue flicking out, dragging up the side of your cheek in a long, filthy stripe. The gesture is warm, obscene.

You shudder, but it’s not revulsion that ripples through you. Just heavy, irrational arousal.

And then, so close to your ear that you can feel the air vibrate, “Did he taste you first?” Sukuna murmurs, “Before I killed him?”

Your stomach drops, and everything inside you goes still. Your hands coil up into dense fists, as you shove at his chest, with little avail.

“Fuck you! – ”

Sukuna catches your wrists before you can even land the second blow. Two of his strong, meaty hands pin your arms above your head. Cursed energy cinching around them like a velvet rope, as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Desperate for Sukuna to not hear a breathy sound escape your mouth, as you suddenly clench around nothing, and find yourself aching for some friction.

You’re spread against the wall now, held up as much by furious adrenaline, as by him. His knees part your thighs, but they don’t press. Not yet.

“Gojo Satoru,” Sukuna says, and the name falls quietly. Almost reverently, “Did he kiss this mouth?”

He brushes your glossy lips with his thumb. You resist the urge to sink your teeth into his hand.

“Did he fuck this cunt?”

Gojo hadn’t, despite what people assumed. He had been your friend, not your lover.

But Satoru had always wanted more, an eager, gentle and wide-eyed love that you should have given him.

And yet, here you were, pinned in the arms of the four-armed demon that brought him down. Wet and slick, pulsing and hungry for a monster’s touch.

Some little mercy.

Another hand hovers between your legs, a breath above the silk of your inner thighs. Not quite touching. Not yet.

Your jaw is locked, but your hips shift. Just once, bucking upwards for the smallest scrap of pleasure. Barely perceptible.

And he feels it. Of course he does.

“That is what I thought,” Sukuna mutters, “Think I am not finely attuned enough to every breath you take?”

His large, warm palm settles between your thighs. Not rough, nor forceful. Just there.

You flinch again, not from fear. From want. You want Sukuna to slowly drag the flesh of him palm further up, to brush up against where you ache for his touch the most.

“Think I do not hear how your body begs?”

You hate how true his words are. Your breath shudders when Sukuna leans in again, “Begging to be taken,” he whispers, “To be filled. To be ruined.”

A single flick of his callous thumb brushes silk, right over your swollen clit, pressing down.

You jolt, a sharp and involuntary sound leaving your throat. Half-started gasp, and half moan. That single huff of air hands in the space between you and your husband, and you’re not sure if it’s a trick of the low light, but the very tips of Sukuna’s ear glow a flushed and angry red.

“Say it again,” Sukuna whispers, and you’re taken aback at the sudden anger that tinges his voice, but it’s not directed at you. Anger at himself for becoming so affected by the merest taste of you, “Say that you hate me.”

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. But you don’t move.

Sukuna bites. Not deep, just enough.

Just enough to make you mewl, your spine arching off the wall as sharp teeth catch at your throat. Claiming, branding you as the wife of the King of Curses. The pain blooms for only a second before it melts into something darker, filthier.

You pant against his mouth, dizzy with the force of it. Some unreasonable part of you aches to push forward, to press your lips to his, to end this charade once and for all.

But Sukuna pulls back, and your arms fall limp as the cursed restraints vanish with a crimson whisper. You’re crumbling forward against the oak table once more, chest heaving and legs shaking. Your pulse beats furiously at your neck, just beneath the strategic imprint of his fangs.

The King of Curses watches you, with some undiscernible expression flickering across his face.

You certainly must appear dishevelled now, fine robes crumpled as you flush from cheek to chest. Lips parted, throat damp where his tongue and fangs left their mark.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you rasp, cursing the unsteady waver of your voice.

“Why not?”

Sukuna is already turning, always walking away, and you don’t miss the angry twitch in his broad shoulders, the red heat crawling over the nape of his neck. The door slides open with a hiss, as your husband looks over his shoulders, “I will return to the estate within three days.”

And then, Sukuna is gone.

Your puffy cunt throbs, miserable and neglected as you pinch your thighs together for some weeping friction.

You should have put that dining knife through his ribs when you had the chance.

You don't see Sukuna at meals. Nor in the halls. Not even in the cursed, rotting corners of the estate where his minions cling like ash in your lungs.

Ryomen Sukuna is gone, true to his word.

Off hunting, off killing, off doing whatever it is that makes him a happy, smug prick.

And it irks you to no end. Not just your moral dilemmas with Sukuna's hobbies, but the fact that you've been waiting. For his voice, for his touch, for the rasp of his breath against your throat.

Your fingers keep twitching with the phantom memory, of claws at your hips, of heat between your thighs, of your own body folding under him like it belonged there.

You hate how vividly you remember it. The last few nights you've spent, alone in your chambers, weren't spent sleeping at all. On your back, with your knees bent and parted, silks twisted around your thighs.

The touch of your own hand wasn't nearly as overwhelming or deep as you wished. You'd press your fingers in, curling them in search for some sweet spot and relief, but it was never the same.

The ache didn't go away. It only bloomed, dark and awful, curling in your gut like hunger. For Sukuna.

On the third night, the sunset drips molten red through paper walls. The light begins to cut your pacing shadow in half as you mutter ill, seething omens into the air. You tell yourself it's not about the King of Curses, that he hasn't gotten under your skin that badly.

It's the confinement, right? The stillness, the —

Snap!

A voice, all teeth and thunder, curls through the room, and if you didn't know better, you would have caught the faint surprise beneath the bored drawl, "My wife is still here, it seems."

You whirl, fury burning across your face. Fury, yes, for how dare he leaves you wanting and aching for a touch that should not be yours to claim.

But Sukuna is already pressing his mouth to yours.

There's no warning nor hesitation, just sheer collision. Sukuna's mouth crashes into yours like a war cry, two hands already in your hair, and another two settling at your waist. The force of him has you stumbling back, but Sukuna follows, devours, consumes.

It's not gentle, and it's certainly not kind. It's all him, brutal and overwhelming, tasting you like you're already his in every way imaginable.

You gasp into the kiss, but your hands are already clawing up his frame to rest in his blush-pink hair before you can think better of it. Yanking and clawing, your teeth clinking against his.

You can feel Sukuna's mouth against yours, curling into a half-sneer, and half-satisfied smile as you moan, nails sinking into the inked planes of his back, right as he begins to push you towards the floor.

"You missed me," Sukuna breathes against your lips, dragging his forked, split tongue over your bottom lip before biting, hard enough to make you squeal, "Say it."

"No."

"We will see."

Sukuna takes you to the polished floor, rough palms skimming up your thighs, making space for you scramble at the knot of your robes. But his patience seems to grow thin, and quite soon, dark claws are curling into the fine fabric, tearing clean through silk.

You're bare beneath him. Bare, and furious, and soaked.

Sukuna's mouth is everywhere. Searing heat down your jaw, your throat, between the valley of your breasts. Leaving bruising, blooming marks that make you stifle sharp gasps.

He laves his tongue over one pebbled nipple, and rolls it between his teeth, while a massive, calloused hand pins your wrists above your head.

Your hips buck up, needy and shameless, as you blindly grasp for the waistband on his loose, martial pants. There's a thick, curved jostle against your thigh already.

No, there's two.

You can feel them, one thick and low, pressing right where you need it. And the other cock dragging higher, riding the curve of your abdomen as Sukuna ruts against you, clearly chasing pleasure of his own, a cherry-red hue painted high across his furious scowl.

"I can't – I can't b-believe you."

"Oh, so you would wish for me to stop?"

Your legs are spread beneath him, thighs splayed wide as your weeping folds swell and throb, pearly drops of your arousal already feeling unbearably hot against the cool, evening air.

And you glare at your husband, cheeks flushed with the prospect of the ridiculous motion, "I didn't say that."

You catch a rough, half-coughed snicker from the King of Curses who shifts his weight, and with little forewarning, shoves the lower of his cocks right between your folds, sliding along the wet slit, hot and heavy.

You need not even glance down to comprehend the sheer size of him, the thick bulge that snags against your entrance.

You're keening as the wispy, heated head bumps into your glistening clit, then lower, as Sukuna drags his cock against your entrance, but not quite pressing in yet.

"You're already dripping for me," Sukuna hisses, watching the hypnotic slide of his cock being enveloped by your heaven-sent pussy, "Fuckin' perfect. You want it? Take it."

And you do, for you roll your needy hips, desperate, catching the head of his cock once more, right at your entrance.

"Beg."

You growl, wiggling your hips further down to try and ease at least one cock in, "Go to hell."

Sukuna's responding look is flat, exasperated even, as all four hands are grabbing your thighs, spreading them wide, holding you open for him like a feast, "I will take you there."

Nothing could have prepared you for the jaw-dropping stretch, the snug inches that are melded by your gummy walls.

You cry out, spine bowing off the floor, eyes rolling. Sukuna's huge, stretching you, splitting you open like you were made for him.

The second cock, thankfully, does not slip further, but instead, drags against your belly as he begins to set a steady pace within you, the obscene friction adding a devastating pressure just under your skin.

You can't breathe. Can't think. Can only feel.

Sukuna moves with mean intent, driving into you with maddening rhythm, hips crashing against yours. Your back arches, hands scrambling for purchase on his biceps, his shoulders, the floor, anything.

"You should see yourself," Sukuna snarls, fangs glinting in the low light. "Mouth open, legs shaking. Grindin' on my cock like a bitch in heat."

You moan, head falling back, body clenching around him. He feels it, groaning, dark and low, and shifting his angle just slightly. Thick head finding that rough, sweet patch that makes you whine.

Kissing that spot deliciously with every sticky thrust and smack of his hips against yours.

"F-fuck, S'kuna— !"

"That's it." He leans in, sweat beading on his brow, and it brings you decent satisfication to know that he looks just as ruined as you feel. Maroon eyes hazy, lips glossy and flushed, and pulled back into a handsome snarl, "You can get louder. Let her talk."

Sukuna's second cock is leaking translucent, creamy pre against your stomach now, the obscene slide of it adding to the slick mess between you.

He presses his broad chest down, grinding the upper cock against your skin while the lower one ruins you, thrust after thrust dragging you closer to the edge.

You're trembling, gasping, sweating. And you want to hate him. You do, right? Heady and cloying arousal floods your senses in quick, lightning-style jolts that claw at any rational thoughts peeking in at the edges.

Sukuna feels you clench again, and his brutal pace falters, just for a moment.

There's stringy strands of slick being pulled between your thighs and his hips, all while Sukuna grunts, brows furrowed, "So soon, wife?"

"F-fuck you."

Sukuna snickers, mouthing at the juncture between your throat and jaw, "You are."

Your climax tears through you like fire, sharp, bright, overwhelming. Your back bows. Your throat rips open on a cry as you clamp down around him, spasming, sobbing, soaking his cock with your release.

And Sukuna doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own end, voice ragged as he growls, "Gonna' take all of it? Every, last – fuck."

He slams in once more, deep and brutal. You feel it, everything. His cock throbbing inside you. The flood of warmth that fills you.

His second cock pulsing against your skin as he finishes, both of you trembling, writhing, lost.

Silence.

Heavy, sweat-slicked, tangled. He collapses over you, caging you with his body, still buried deep. And you're suddenly struck by the oddest comparison of your husband and a large, forest bear.

You're blinking up at the ceiling, chest heaving, and your legs still shaking. Your thighs sticky and spread, with drops of thick, opaque seed leakin' right out of your clenching cunt, smeared equally over Sukuna's abdomen.

You pretend not to notice that dastardly second mouth of his doing a right, determined job of cleaning the taste of both of you up.

"So," Sukuna rumbles, voice hoarse and smug, "Think you can take both?"

You let out a breathless laugh, eyelids heavy as you meet his challenging gaze. "What? You think I can't?"

His clever mouth twitches. One dark brow arches in challenge.

"Get on your back, husband."

And he does.

Wordlessly. Fluidly. Like he's been waiting for the command, and is still indulging you. You climb over him, the last of your strength curling into something sharp and hungry as your knees settle against the floor.

His hands find your waist. One of them slides up, slow, warm, steady, palm flattening over your stomach. The claws are gone. Blunted. Gentle.

Neither of you says a word about it.

[lilianne-tarot]

Pick-A-Card: What Makes People Secretly Jealous of You✧˖°.

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚ PILE I

cards pulled: 5 of swords, 4 of swords, page of wands, 6 of swords, knight of swords, 3 of swords

Okay PILE 1, UHM… instantly, you’re giving main character energy in a way that intimidates the sh*t out of people. Like you’re not even trying to be the center of attention, but somehow you always are? You enter a space and people are like, “Who do they think they are?” while also copying your stuff three days later. You walk with a silent type of confidence, very “don’t test me” energy. People sense you’ve had hard times, and even if they don’t know the details, they can feel it. You’ve got this inner toughness that’s kind of scary hot tbh. Your vibe is a whole psychological thriller. Like, folks don’t know whether to admire you, kiss you, or block you for their own emotional safety 😂

You probably learned the HARD way not to overshare. You likely had friendships that ended weirdly, conversations that drained you, people who twisted your words. And now? You’ve mastered the art of being unreadable but piercingly observant. This group is in their “🧠 > 🤡” era( I SAID WHAT I SAID😭) . You don’t argue. You just watch, process, distance yourself, and transform yourself in silence. THIS. This is the part that has people frothing. You’re unbothered. People can literally throw tantrums, shade, or even subtle digs at you, and you’ll be doing your own shit and minding your own mental health. You’re the kind of person who pulls back, protects their peace, and doesn't give people the satisfaction of a reaction. And bestie, THAT is maddening to people who need chaos to feel relevant. You choosing silence? You choosing yourself? You resting instead of people-pleasing? People cannot handle how you don’t chase or cling or overexplain. Your energy says, “If you cross me, I’ll just go leave, idc.” And that’s more threatening than any clapback. Them not feeling worthy enough is what piss them off

Ugh, I love this for you 😭 i sense this is youthful fire. Like, your curiosity, your passion, your spark, it’s infectious. Even when you’re figuring life out, you make it look like an adventure. People wish they had your sense of excitement, your ability to find beauty in the unknown, your passion projects, your spontaneous glow-up moments. You still believe in magic, and you chase it. People see that in you and lowkey get anxious sometimes which in turn leads to anxiety. You remind them of who they used to be or who they wish they were. You’re like their inner child’s inspiration and trigger at the same damn time 😭

 If you ask how this jealousy shows up? Okay bestie, here’s the deal, they LEAVEEE. that's it....Like, people who get too jealous of you will slowly drift, ghost, or distance themselves. And it’s not because you did anything. Nope. It’s literally because your energy is a mirror, you unintentionally expose what they’re running from in themselves. So when someone exits your life out of nowhere? It's not always shade. It’s often that your growth, your self-protection, your refusal to settle… it gets too loud for their comfort. And some of them might even act like you’re "too much" or “hard to connect with” but that’s just projection, babe. They’re mad you're moving on, moving forward, and not looking back.

AND THIS is your sign to stop holding back. You’ve got things to say. Projects to create. Movements to spark. Opinions to express. And the universe is screaming at you to stop playing nice just to make insecure people feel comfy. You’re meant to lead. You’ve got clarity that cuts through the fluff, and people NEED that. You’re not here to be palatable; you’re here to be powerful.

Okay  big hug 🤍 because this tells me your power didn’t come from sunshine and luck, alteast not always. It came from heartbreak, betrayal, disappointment. Like… people don’t get that your confidence is built on grief. You’ve transmuted pain into power. And while they’re busy watching your highlight reel, they have no idea you cried yourself into this version of you. That’s the hidden jealousy no one talks about, how you kept going when others would’ve collapsed. That’s the real intimidation.

 I’m getting an oddly specific message: some people from your past (school friends? old internet mutuals?) STILL stalk you online. Like, they swear they don’t care, but they’re obsessed with the way you keep evolving. I even saw someone in my mind writing a note like “they always bounce back.” LMAO not them studying you😭

Stay sharp, baby. You’re meant to trigger AND inspire 💅🔥

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚ PILE II

cards pulled: the world, 9 of pentacles, ace of pentacles, ace of wands, queen of wands, 3 of swords

OMG okay wait PILE 2??! Babe… you’re not even walking into rooms, you’re making whole room shift when you show up (okay maybe a little exaggeration but i feel that way so i said it) 💀 but honestly, to me, This pile is aura-too-bright-for-this-world energy. The cards here?? ICONIC. 

So right off the bat, with The World as your “vibe that catches attention instantly,” I audibly gasped. No, seriously ’m seeing someone who’s got that complete package aura. Like… when you walk into a space, people instantly sense that you’ve seen life, evolved, and you’re not here to play. You feel like someone who's been through seasons, leveled up through pain, and came out looking expensive, composed, and unbothered. There’s this whole “I’ve arrived” energy that surrounds you. It's not cocky it’s earned.

And paired with Nine of Pentacles + Ace of Pentacles + Ace of Wands + Queen of Wands, like… WHAT EVEN IS THIS POWER COMBO?? Bestie, you are literally the embodiment of “I’m secured, unshakable” I’m seeing you as someone who might have had to glow up alone. People ditched you during your struggle era.People are so jealous because you make independence look luxurious. And this isn’t fake rich aesthetic energy, it’s like… you actually worked for the stability you have now. Financial glow-up? Check. Confidence glow-up? Check. ENERGY glow-up? Baby, it’s off the charts. For people who havent yet received any of these, just wait lovelies, you are soon reaching that level! You come off as someone who doesn’t need anyone, but also, anyone would kill to be needed by you. your creative spark is lit as hell right now. You probably have 10 ideas swirling in your head at any moment. You’re the kind of person who creates something new out of nothing, and just have oodly specific magnetic quality. People can’t stop watching you like they’re not even sure why they’re drawn to you, but they are. You might post the most random thing on social media and get a hundred saves. It’s THAT type of energy. You intimidate people without trying. You could be in sweats and people are still clocking you like, “Who is THAT?” You walk in like a flame in a room full of plastic candles. I’m not gonna lie some folks deadass want your confidence, your glow, your ability to just own yourself. And they try to copy it, but it doesn’t hit the same because theirs is curated. Yours? Authentic AF.

BUT THEN… BOOM. We get hit with Three of Swords and oof. That changes the whole flavor of this pile. This is the secret ingredient in your power. People don’t realize that the reason you shine so hard now is because you had to crawl through heartbreak, betrayal, rejection, and emotional hell just to find your light again. Like, this is NOT surface-level sadness. This is “I had to rebuild my damn self when everyone left” energy. Your glow comes from grief you survived. Your confidence was carved out of loss. And people feel that even if they don’t consciously get it.

Let’s talk about how this jealousy shows up in behavior. Some people act fake supportive. You’ll notice them almost hyping you up, but it’s giving “I’m clapping, but I’m also watching to see when you fall.” Others might straight up ghost you the moment you succeed at something. Like, why is it crickets when you’re winning?? 😭 Some people are so triggered by your glow-up they pretend they don’t see it. You’ll post something huge and they’ll scroll past like they’re blind, but you know they saw it. Oh, they saw it. They’re LURKING. I’m picking up on past friends or even family members who remember you before you knew your worth, are mostly jealous. They don’t know how to deal with you now that you’ve stepped into your power. Also I’m feeling online strangers too. People who watch you, feel inferior, and try to tear you down in petty ways, shady energy, maybe even copying you to feel closer to your vibe. But it never lands right. Because your essence? It’s not copy-paste.

Babe… you’re not meant to be digestible to everyone. Your energy is big, your aura is blinding, and not everyone has the emotional range to celebrate that. Some people will see your light and clap. Others will squint and get mad that it hurts their eyes. That’s not your problem. The World card is reminding you: you’ve already completed one of the hardest chapters. You don’t need external validation. You ARE the moment. Keep planting those seeds (Ace of Pentacles), chase that inspiration (Ace of Wands), stay in your fiery power (Queen of Wands), and remember you’re glowing because you healed through hell. And that’s the real flex.

People aren't just jealous of what you have. they're haunted by the fact that nothing could break you.

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⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ˚ PILE III

Cards Pulled: ace of cups, 9 of wands, judgement, 10 of cups, the sun

OH BABY. PILE 3??? This one has me emotional chaos in the best way possible, like, I’m laughing, crying, cheering you on, and lowkey feeling jealous myself 😭✨ There’s just something so undeniably rare about your energy, and I’m gonna be real with you, people don’t just notice you… they get emotionally activated by you. 

So right off the bat we open with the Ace of Cups as your “vibe that catches attention instantly.” GIRL. The softness. The emotional depth. The actual divine femininity (this quality is not restricted to one gender, it’s about the energy here) . People sense that your heart is open, your energy is healing, and you’ve got this naturally receptive, magnetic glow that pulls people in like you’re the human version of a warm hug and a deep exhale. You give off big “safe space” energy but also romantic, ethereal, dreamy vibes. It’s like… being around you makes people want to open up, cry, confess their life story and then fall in love with you. You’re that person.

And that’s exactly why the Nine of Wands shows up next because people have no idea how hard you’ve worked to stay this soft. You’ve been through so much emotional wounding, maybe abandonment, betrayal, family drama, heartbreak but instead of turning bitter, you became even more radiant. Bestie, you are literally the definition of a wounded healer. Your boundaries are firm now, but you still love so hard. You protect your peace(AS YOU SHOULD), but you’ve also never lost that softness. THAT is your power. You didn’t get cold. You got clear.

Now here’s the fun part: people are jealous as hell of your emotional fulfillment and the fact that you are so deeply in tune with yourself and others. The Ten of Cups and The Sun together?. This is “I’m manifesting the life of my dreams and I will protect my joy with my whole damn soul” energy. Whether or not you have the full picture yet (some of you may still be building it), people look at you and feel like: “Ugh. They’ve got it all.” The dream relationships. The emotional clarity. That sense of “I know what I want, and I will not settle for less.” That triggers people who feel lost, disconnected, or stuck in superficiality.

THIS is the energy that freaks people out the most. Because it’s the card of awakening. You’re someone who constantly reinvents yourself, levels up, and literally triggers people’s consciousness. Like, someone will meet you and a week later be in an existential crisis just from how your energy reflected back all the places they’re asleep in their own life. You don’t even need to say much, your presence alone forces people to confront their emotional blind spots. It’s that deep.

Let’s talk about how this jealousy actually shows up in behavior, because oh honey, it’s sneaky. Some people will love-bomb you at first. They’ll worship you, obsess over you, and tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them. But as soon as they realize they can’t match your depth or keep up with your light? Boom. They either ghost you, emotionally shut down, or try to project their pain onto you. Some may even subtly compete with you emotionally, like copying your vibe but making it weirdly performative. Others might act overly critical of your emotions like “you’re too sensitive” or “too idealistic” but deep down? They wish they could feel as deeply and freely as you. I’m picking up on exes, old crushes, emotionally unavailable people, and even spiritually bypassing fake-deep people. They once had access to your love, your softness, your radiance, and now they’re haunted by the fact that they fumbled you. Also, I feel like some parents or authority figures might’ve been emotionally intimidated by how “different” you were growing up. Maybe you felt misunderstood for being so dreamy or sensitive. But look at you now turning your heart into a damn superpower.

Do not water down your light or dim your joy to make others comfortable. The Sun says your happiness is holy. You’re meant to shine, radiate, and live in color, even if that makes other people squint. And Judgement is reminding you: keep rising. Every time you outgrow your old self, people will fall off, and that’s okay. They were never meant to go where you’re headed. Your emotional depth isn’t a weakness. it’s what makes you a fckin force of nature. Keep protecting your peace, pouring love into people who deserve it, and curating a life that feels like poetry. The right ones will meet you there. You’re not just powerful because of your light, you’re powerful because you chose your light after walking through hell. And people will always be a little salty about that.

So go ahead and keep shining, crybaby angel warrior 😭💛 You’ve earned every drop of your joy.

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Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[chiscaralight]

cw: shy!choso x reader, prone boning, college au. sukuna and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!choso who’s an absolute beast on the field. everyone loves to watch him play, it’s almost like a movie every time he’s out for the game! he’s always ready to charge headfirst when it comes to his sport, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

college athlete!choso who doesn’t talk to anyone outside his teammates and a select few. it’s fair anyway, a lot of people only want to speak to him bc he’s deemed important, not like they want to know him.

college athlete!choso who’s also known for his aloof personality. but when you’re partnered up for an essay, you soon realize everyone is painfully wrong.

college athlete!choso who’s the most shy thing ever! it almost breaks your heart how he starts to stutter and avoid your eyes while you work out the details, just humming in agreement and you swear he almost passes out when you ask for his number.

college athlete!choso who’s practically about to fall off the edge of your bed, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. it’s like trying to coax a hostile cat to eat food you brought it, but with the way you’re looking at him, choso is sure he wouldn’t mind you putting him in your mouth just a bit.

college athlete!choso who finally warms up to you after a couple of evenings together. there’s still significant distance between the two of you, both physically and emotionally, but he’s more open now. he can actually hold a conversation with you now, and he thinks you’re the coolest! he can’t get you off his mind at all, whether he’s walking to the field hoping to spot you on his path, or secretly searching for you in this shared class.

college athlete!choso who jerks himself off to the thought of you after practice, making sure the locker room is empty as he moans out your name, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

college athlete!choso who forgets he’s supposed to meet up with you, cussing himself out when he sees your texts and missed calls. you’re super understanding though, and you tell him to take his time or you can reschedule if it’s better. but he assures you he can be there in less than ten minutes.

college athlete!choso who’s at your door in three minutes, panting and soaked. you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower water or if it’s sweat, but your eyes are more focused on the outline of his exposed arms and damp shirt clinging to his frame. he’s babbling, saying sorry for wasting your time, he ran because he couldn’t find his keys! but his apologies are hitting deaf ears, your mind is definitely on something else. and he notices.

college athlete!choso who’s eyes widen when you pout, shyly asking him to kiss you. this is something you’ve been trying to avoid since the first day he sat in your room, but it’s so hard to hold yourself back when he looks like this!

college athlete!choso who presses his back to the door, holding you in his arms while your tongues tangle. he’s moaning around your tongue, shamelessly feeling you up while you grind your front against his hardening bulge. he’s almost embarrassingly loud, but each sound he makes sends vibrations straight between your legs.

and you’d have to say the same for yourself, fingers dragging down his arms, around his neck, across his chest. but the real kicker is when you softly place your hand against his abs. he’s unconsciously flexing beneath your touch and it draws you in like magic. maybe he’d have good core strength? you’re the one who’s going to put college athlete!choso to the test.

college athlete!choso who passes your test in flying colors, prone boning you with an ease that has you seeing stars. you’re face first in the sheets, cries muffled by the pillow your head rests on while he slams into you like he hates you, much different from the way he asks if you’re okay after a couple of thrusts. you can’t even get your head up! and he’s getting worried but you guide his hand towards your neck, struggling to place your head in the crook of his elbow before telling him to squeeze.

college athlete!choso who gets off on the way your eyes roll back and your voice gets whinier. his hips falter just a bit when you call out his name in that voice, and if not for how good you felt, you would’ve teased him for the way his cock just twitched.

college athlete!choso who can’t face you in class the next day. you’re a little sad when you don’t see him, so you decide to check the field later in the day.

college athlete!choso who freezes up when he sees you waving from the stands. his teammates don’t miss his change in demeanor, and they start to laugh and nudge him in the side, teasing him about the cutie cheering him on from the bleachers.

college athlete!choso who comes up to you during their break, face still blazing hot from the exercise and the memories of you from last night. he says he would have hugged you but he’s insanely sweaty right now. not like you would’ve minded, that sweaty body was all up on yours last night like it was nothing!

college athlete!choso who gives you a nice long kiss before he leaves. trying to drown out the sounds of his team hollering at the two of you from a distance. you break the kiss with a laugh and tell him he can come over later if he wants.

college athlete!choso who forgets his keys and runs all the way to your place for the fourth time this week. he doesn’t mind though, he just thinks of it as prep for the calories he’s about to burn with you in a couple of minutes.

sukuna ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver here!

choso pt2 here!

[kazrz]

TEN YEARS TOO LATE ⛥ sirius black

ten years ago, bellatrix lestrange’s child was thrown onto your doorstep without warning. ten years later, you’re not sure if you’re living the life you’d wanted — but you do know that mattheo is your son, and no one else’s. [1.6k words]

TAGS: sirius is harry’s godfather, reader is a single mum to mattheo riddle, hurt/no comfort, angst, lovers to strangers/borderline enemies ngl, voldemort died after the first war, reader and sirius are both meanies

🐦‍⬛ — everyone say hi to my baby mattheo! I wrote this fic smiling and all but best believe I’ll never have a child in the future. too much work.

p.s. this fic is inspired by ‘he looks like his father’ by @/marauder-misprint! that fic changed lives and one of them was mine.

“He’s not your kid.”

You’ve endured many offensive questions about Mattheo’s parentage ever since you took him in. They sent you spiralling downward into the deepest depths of your mind, wondering why everyone needed to have their noses in your business. They made you second guess your parenting skills, doubting how you raised Mattheo and whether he truly is the boy you nurtured him to be.

While you weren’t normally so tongue-tied in these situations, it didn’t help that your old, repulsive Hogwarts fling was standing right before you — closer than he’d ever been in more than a decade — confidently claiming that your son wasn’t yours.

It was a huge, fucking relief that the kid had inherited his biological mother’s shamelessness.

Mattheo pushed past only a few irritated students and parents on his way to you. Sirius’ words were as clear as day to him. They ignited a flame that wasn’t known for its swift ceasing.

“Who are you to be the judge of that?” he gritted out, fingers clinging onto yours by habit. You smiled down at him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “Last I remembered Mum telling me, you ditched her after graduation and never reached out. You have no right to even be speaking to her.”

Your son’s words sizzled a hole into your heart. You hadn’t expected him to remember the measly details about a man who was irrelevant in his life. The last time you’d mentioned Sirius, Mattheo was merely five. He’d asked, “Mama, why don’t I have a dad?”

How could you not answer him?

Eighteen years ago, you would have laughed if someone said you’d be a single mother. Sixteen years ago, you would have laughed, along with Sirius, at the prospect of being parents.

Ten years ago, you held in your distaste for children and took in a three-year-old.

And you wouldn’t let the man who’d left your heart in pieces disregard the hard work you’d put in.

Sirius’ dry laugh left you clenching your teeth, hands itching to curl into fists and punch him square in the face. “Stay out of this, kid,” he snapped, not even bothering to glance at Mattheo.

You sent him a right hook straight to his chiseled jaw, hearing a soft crack sound at the impact.

Silence fell over the courtyard like a thick, suffocating blanket, but not before gasps echoed from every corner of the open space. Sirius held trembling fingers to his left jawbone, lips parted in absolute bewilderment. He stared off into the empty space beside Mattheo.

A few rustles sounded as someone shoved past students clad in their black robes. Harry froze, halting just before he ended up in the middle of the ongoing catfight.

A dazed Remus materialised from behind him, eyes widened as he took in the scene.

“YN,” the lanky man rasped, eyes flitting between you and his best mate. Sirius still had his hand pressed to the side of his insolent-looking face, but now he was glaring you down, brows virtually stitched together. “YN, you’re here.”

Mattheo tugged on your arm and you stepped back, the greater distance between you and your ex clearing the haze from your mind. You tried not to roll your eyes at Remus’ quite apparent observation.

“Yes, I am, Lupin.” The edge in your voice gave way to pure rancour, eyes hardening when Sirius righted himself with a groan. You had half the heart not to utter the next few words. “You’re not the only one with a child.”

By now, the prying eyes of passers-by had redirected somewhere else, no longer interested in your dispute with two of the Marauders.

Remus’ gaze lingered on Mattheo — his dark curls, his defined brows, his nose, the scar that marred his cheek intimidatingly. He looked close to nothing like you, save for his body language, graceful yet sharp, and his clothing choices, casual yet sophisticated.

Even if the kid wasn’t your blood, it was painfully blatant that he was raised by you.

The professor swallowed the lump in his throat. “Riddle’s yours?” The question was stupid, but he was too dumbfounded to think of another one.

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. You relished in seeing him wince at the pain that struck his jaw. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed more than ready to rip him apart.

“You might wanna stop there, Moony, or she’ll have you puking out your guts,” Sirius sneered, the unfamiliar sound sending a tremble down Harry’s spine. His godfather had never been so agitated before. It might’ve just been your presence that irked him, given the woeful tone Sirius would adopt whenever he shared stories about your relationship back then.

You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have someone claim your son isn’t really yours, would you? Because Harry isn’t your son. He’s your dead best friend’s son.”

A brief flicker of hurt crossed Sirius’ grey eyes. It tugged at your heartstrings, but you shoved the feeling aside. You had no compassion for him. He’d shattered you — how could you possibly go back to him?

Mattheo turned to you with a plea in his eyes. While he normally would contribute with some snarky comments of his own, he didn’t want you getting into a brawl. Especially when this was the topic at hand.

“Mum,” he tried, voice firm but holding a semblance of vulnerability he’d only ever show around you. “Don’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

At that, Sirius whipped out his wand and jabbed at your chest with the tip. Mattheo almost broke the man’s ribs, but you pushed him aside before he could get caught in the altercation.

The former Gryffindor looked nearly like a rabid dog with the way he snarled and growled, wand tip digging painfully into your collarbone.

“Not worth it? That’s what I was to you? What you told your son I was?” His voice sank deeper than the depths of the ocean. Harry didn’t recognise the man who looked like his godfather.

You gripped his wand tight, nearly snapping it in two if Sirius hadn’t yanked it away harshly. “The moment you abandoned me on my own doorstep, you became a stranger!” you raged, keeping your volume in check before another crowd formed. “When you didn’t call, or even send a bloody letter, I gave up waiting on you. What could I do? Cry all night because you weren’t there to hug me? Trudge around my house blindfolded because everything reminded me of you? I knew better than that. I moved away, and you weren’t there to stop me. So why are you here now, claiming my kid isn’t mine and acting offended that he thinks you’re of no worth to me?”

Mattheo held his breath when you spat the words you’d been holding in for years. He knew you were tenacious and resolute in all your glory, but he’d never witnessed you so livid. He had little to no knowledge of how Sirius had left you so wounded and exposed, though now, your words began assembling the puzzle pieces he’d collected over the years.

He noticed whenever you stopped for a moment, looking longingly at an object that meant nothing to him, but a lot more to you. You would sometimes, subconsciously, style his hair differently when it grew too long. Right now, as he glanced between you and Sirius with his waves, he realised why.

“Seriously, Sirius?” He heard the crack in your voice when your ex didn’t respond. Out of guilt or fury, he didn’t know. “You made your decision, and I have made mine.”

You shoved the dark-haired man off of you, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing. Remus darted forwards, barely managing to catch Sirius in his arms, sparing him from the unforgiving impact of the ground. Hushed whispers were exchanged as the latter righted himself, sending you a glare while holding his injured jaw.

It was only after a quiet, indignant huff that you turned to your son and placed benign hands on his shoulders.

Leaning down slightly, you brushed a stray hair away from Mattheo’s forehead, smiling as tenderly as you could. “Are you ready to leave, Theo?” you murmured sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous bite. The sudden shift in tone induced whiplash.

Mattheo flashed a charming grin that reminded Remus of your own. Whatever Sirius had said about the Slytherin boy not being your son was possibly the most erroneous statement ever uttered.

You mirrored his expression, though yours was gentler and didn’t reach your eyes. Your son’s enthusiasm flickered for a moment, but when you stood to your full height and led him away, Mattheo began cheerfully rambling about the recent happenings at Hogwarts and his own escapades.

Sirius couldn’t believe that he’d just seen you for the first time in more than a decade. He especially couldn’t fathom the fact that it had gone terribly.

He shouldn’t have said Mattheo wasn’t your kid. That isn’t something you say to your ex you’ve been thinking about for sixteen years after you ditched her. Now that he’d put it that way, he realised how horribly he had acted towards you and your son.

Your son. It was a foreign term to him, principally when it came to you. The you he’d known in Hogwarts had an unyielding repugnance for children. But, he figured, you were really only averse to the toddlers who didn’t listen. You must have raised Mattheo well.

“That was awful,” Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow at his godfather. Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face and wincing when his jaw decided it was too much.

He sighed, brows stitched together. “I know.” But what did it matter?

Remus patted him on the back. “If you’re lucky, you might see her again,” he reassured his friend, though skepticism snuck between his words.

“If she even wants to see me again.”

Harry had a feeling that you didn’t.

navigation ⛥ sirius black

[odilesgrimoire]

I Can’t Sleep Unless You’re Here

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Tags: fluff, dramatic boyfriend behavior, clingy Gojo, soft cuddles, established relationship, long-distance (but only for one night)

Summary: Gojo Satoru has survived cursed spirits, assassins, and political meetings—but Gojo Satoru has known suffering.

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

He has faced cursed spirits the size of buildings. Watched friends die. Carried the weight of the strongest on his shoulders since he was fifteen.

But nothing could have prepared him for the bone-deep agony of spending a night without you.

9 hours and 36 minutes. That’s how long it’s been since he left for Kyoto.

His hotel room is too quiet. Too sterile. The sheets smell like laundry detergent instead of you. The thermostat is set to the perfect temperature, and yet he’s freezing. Inside.

He lay spread-eagled on the bed, silk robe, damp hair, sunglasses on. The shower hadn’t helped

The group chat with Nanami and Shoko is left on read. He’s already called you twice. You said you were going to sleep. You sounded tired. You sounded adorable.

He replays your voice in his head like a junkie going through withdrawal.

“I miss your dumb face.”

He clutches his chest.

“You better be resting and not seducing the entire Kyoto branch.”

He lets out a soft whimper.

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

He rolled over and screamed into the pillow

12 hours in. He can’t do this.

He sends you a photo of himself dramatically laying across the bed, captioned:

“Empty. Like my heart.”

No response.

He texts again:

“If I die tonight, know that I loved you with all the passion of a thousand suns and the recklessness of a man who’s seen your thighs in shorts.”

Still nothing.

He leaves a voice message.

“Hey… it’s me. Again.”

“I just… I tried. I really did. I fluffed the pillow. I cuddled the hotel robe. I even sprayed your perfume on a towel and slept beside it… like some lovesick stalker. Nothing worked.”

“It’s not the bed. It’s not the blanket. It’s you.”

“I can’t sleep unless you’re here. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“The worst part is that I did sleep. For five minutes. And I dreamed you were holding someone else’s hand. And when I woke up, I cried. Real tears. I saw a bellboy. He looked concerned.”

“I think I’m unraveling. Come back. Or let me come home. I swear I’ll behave. I’ll even stop stealing your chocolate… Even the fancy ones you hide behind the cereal box.”

He stares at the message, debating whether to delete it.

He doesn’t.

You blink awake in the dark, glance at your phone, and roll your eyes. He’s lost it. Fully lost it. You set the phone back down—and smile.

God, you love that idiot.

18 hours.

He cracks. He packs his things in a flurry. Leaves a note for Nanami:

“Tell them I had a curse emergency. (The curse was my loneliness.)”

Nanami will kill him.

He doesn’t care.

He books the earliest train, dressed in your hoodie and yesterday’s sweatpants, looking like a sad anime protagonist halfway through his redemption arc.

4:36 AM.

You open the door to find a very tired, very clingy Gojo Satoru standing in your hallway with a suitcase and a 7-Eleven bag of snacks.

He stares at you like you’re salvation. Like you’re sunlight. Like he’s been through a war zone made entirely of cold pillows and too much silence.

You blink. “Satoru…”

“I came back,” he says. His voice cracks. Cracks.

“You… left the summit?”

“I almost died,” he says solemnly. “I was slipping into madness. I heard voices. One of the hotel pillows whispered your name.”

“…Are you on drugs?”

“Only the drug of love.”

You drag him inside.

He throws himself into your arms like a soldier returning from war. Clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Smushes his face into your chest and lets out the most pitiful groan you’ve ever heard from a grown man.

“I’m never leaving again,” he mutters. “Not unless you come with me. Not even to the convenience store. We’re attached at the hip now. Fused. Merged.”

“Satoru, it was one night.”

“A lifetime. In heartache years.”

You collapse into bed, and he’s on you in an instant—arms around your waist, legs tangled with yours, his entire 6’3 frame practically melted into your body like a clingy marshmallow.

You run a hand through his hair.

He lets out a breath. “See? That’s it. That’s what I needed. Your fingers in my hair. Your breath on my neck. Your weird little sleep grumbles. That’s home.”

You smile, soft and sleepy. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m your drama queen.”

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ───

The next morning, your phone buzzes.

Shoko

“Tell Gojo the elders are putting together a formal complaint. And Nanami wants to punch him.”

You glance over at your boyfriend—passed out, hugging you like a body pillow, one sock missing, face buried in your shoulder.

You text back:

“He says it was worth it.”

And then he rolled over and said he dreamed of me holding his hand at our wedding.

So. Worth it.

₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[windyremedy]

playing matchmakers

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: class a was off on a retreat when they decided that there was no better time to play match makers than now, for their two friends who obviously like each other very much. too bad it only ended up being a colossal of failures.

"alright girls, listen up!"

"boys let's get down to business."

“we all know those two, ahem— heartgoboom. that’s their code name, both like each other correct?"

"our bakubro needs all the help he can get. now he might not say it but everyone with a pair of eyes can see that he has the hots for a certain someone right? everybody who can attest say I—“

“for our plan I was thinking of creating a romantic atmosphere. like getting them to sit next to each other during meal time.”

“my bright idea, heh get it? is to lock them inside the storage room— whose with me?!”

“see it’s all about building up the moment in those unprecedented times making a sure fire way to get them to smooch!“

“then they can totally fuck.”

“if we do this correctly they’ll confess to each other and it’s a mission success!!”

“remember the saying, fuck if we do, fuck if we don’t— let’s fuck!”

“kaminari I don’t think that’s even a saying—“

attempt one: bus ride

maybe you should’ve clocked that a plan was admist but you just didn’t know what it could be. because really for what reason do your classmates have to be cutting you off in the line constantly. mina, tsu, uraraka actually all the girls, heck even koda quietly shuffled infront of you.

honestly you were tethering the edge of snapping so when aoyama ever so dazzlingly went ahead of you, your patience had run thin. about to call him out before you heard shouting from a distance.

“WAIT!!! WAIT BAKUGOU MAN I NEED TO TELL YOU THAT—“ kaminari screamed clinging to the pissed off boy.

“DON’T CARE! DON’T GIVE A SINGLE SHIT! I’M GONNA BE FUCKING LATE SO GET OFF MY DAMN LEG!!”

“PLEASE I HAVE FAMILY!!!!” the electric user desperately yelps.

bakugou only looked at him with a fed up expression.

“WHAT IN THE HELL DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING!!???” he yelled before flinging kaminari into the air.

surprisingly he landed near the entrance of the bus and not the stratosphere so you guessed that was good. it would be too bad if someone funny dissapeared like that but then again another person did get ahead of you so maybe not.

turning around you looked at bakugou, sarcastically asking him if he was gonna cut you off too.

“the fuck? no. I’m not gonna get worked up about fucking seats on the bus.” he snaps getting you a little bit riled up because everything was just annoying you at this point.

“well you don’t have to imply that I’m being childish about it.”

“what? I’m not even saying that. why are you so—“

“what? bitchy?”

“no! when the hell did I even say that!!?”

“you were gonna!”

“that isn’t even tru—“

then a constant stream of arguments stemmed from you two as the perpetrators watched the scene. okay maybe they shouldn’t have annoyed you two too much to the point of getting mad at each other as well.

— MISSION FAILED

attempt two: cooking in pairs? no— cooking in despair

after setting up your things in the designated room you shared with hagakure, you quickly unpacked to head outside and help make lunch. everyone got a choice whether they wanted to help cook or clean afterwards and you of course chose the former, not wanting to deal with the messy tables and plates.

“also you’re paired with bakugou by the way!” she exclaimed from where she sat outside the closet.

“really?” you murmured but didn’t question any further since you did miss the role assigning due to needing to use the bathroom.

stepping outside to the bustling kitchen you neared the cutting area. seeing the mountain of vegetables left totally untouched. where was he?

you thought maybe he’d come a little later but he ended up never coming at all which made you extremely frustrated since he was assigned with you to do the task. to y’know help each other but nooo you had to cut every carrot, every tomato, every potato and damn it the onions are making you tear up.

“heya where’s bakugou?” jiro asked nervously looking around.

“I don’t know, maybe he had better things to do than stay here with me of all people.”

before she could reply a group of steps could be heard coming out of the forest. there, were a few of the boys carrying buckets of water that included the one and only bakugou ‘you’re by yourself’ katsuki.

“well, well, well, look whose here.” you uttered with disdain as they came closer.

the blonde looked at you in confusion and the audacity of it was unreal. since you zeroed in only him you didn’t notice the others with nervous grins and doomed expressions.

“what’s wrong now?” he asked firmly but never with his typical bark even when he’s yelling, not with you.

“nothing. just thought that it could’ve nice if you came and helped me cut some of these up.” you answered sarcastically, annoyance evident in your face.

“so you need help? you could’ve said so. didn’t need to be a brat about it.” he replied in a banterly manner, going to stand next to you but that honestly only made you angrier.

“the nerve of you pisses me of— ugh! you do the rest yourself!!” you yelled before stomping away.

“the fuck just happened.” he muttered staring at your disappearing figure.

the rest could only sigh in defeat while glaring at kaminari who failed to switch with bakugou.

— MISSION FAILED

attempt three: right— no wrong!

after the warm meal what better way to cool off than to take a dip in the nice and refreshing river. putting on your school approved swimsuit you joined the others who were gearing up to play chicken fight.

“oh— whose joining?” you asked after being pulled next to Hagakure near the water.

“all the girls and a couple of the boys! here pick a stick.”

staring at the few multi colored sticks inside the cup you glanced a little longer at the orange colored one. huffing at the fact that you still picked it despite being currently mad at him.

“HOLD ON!!” screamed momo from a few steps away.

“yes?” you wondered, surprised at her unusual outburst.

“I— well ah….so…the thing is….nevermind.” she whispered not wanting to blow their scheme.

right.

turning to look for your partner you saw the boys huddled up and separating, seeming to be done choosing. from what you could see the one with the same color as you was none other than ojiro which you guess wasn’t bad. just not what you were aiming for.

on the other hand the blonde you did want— not that you would admit, who surprisingly even joined was with cheeks as he so annoyingly calls. now that you’re thinking about it everyone gets a deprecating nickname and she gets something cute?! you get it, she really is but damn it didn’t help your growing envy.

even more so when he seemed hellbent on getting your team to lose. with everyone cheering as they won in the end with him looking so smug. as if he successfully achieved his mission.

probably to show off to uraraka.

fuck.

— MISSION FAILED

attempt four: whose your crush?

still upset with him you actively avoided being near him during the night’s bonfire. choosing to sit next to mina instead who brought up playing the ever so popular game of truth or dare.

“so who wants to go first?” she asked cheerfully, glancing at two targets in particular before excitedly announcing bakugou’s name.

“truth or dare?”

“truth.” he answered not even hesitating, probably cause it was the fastest to complete than some dare.

“describe your crush in one word.” she grinned evilly, palms excitedly holding each other.

he took one deep breath, leaning his head up towards the sky. drink a few inches away from his lips that uttered words in a tone different from what they usually hear.

“real fucking cute.”

well that just about sealed your hopes, subconsciously shutting down what’s happening around, not realizing it was your turn.

you really didn’t want to play any games right now but you’re not gonna let bakugou of all people dictate your ability to have fun.

“truth.” you decided, not wanting to do anymore kind of physical labor.

the pink hero hummed as of thinking of a question but immediately bites the bullet.

“who do you like?”

silence fell upon the chatters of your classmate, fire cracking ever so softly. each person on the edge of their seats at your reply.

“I don’t know anymore.” you replied solemnly, which didn’t go unnoticed by the red eyed boy who you made quick eye contact with before looking away.

“oh, well that’s okay! why don’t you ask someone else now?”

“no it’s alright, someone else can have my turn.” you nodded getting up from the log.

“I need to take a breather for a minute.”

with that you left with a certain blonde right at your tail.

“we totally fucked up.” kaminari spoke out loud, the girls looking at him in disagreement.

“we? you were supposed to get him to swap with you on time and they were supposed to be together during the meal preparation!!”

“oh don’t pin the blame on us! whose good idea was it to get them annoyed this morning?!”

“as if it wasn’t you that didn’t tell ojiro about the plan!”

“we didn’t know orange was also his favorite color!!!!”

“that’s no excuse—“

and so a long argument ensued between everybody involved. going back and forth for most of the starry night, leaving the desired pair to deal with the mess unknowingly caused by them.

man, were they shit matchmakers.

— MISSION FAILED

final attempt: the truth

on everything you held dear you tried your best to ignore him calling your name multiple times but you were just so over it all.

“what do you want?” you asked, voice devoid of any warmth.

“tell me what I did wrong.” he spoke honestly, tone holding no kind of anger but a semblance of fear and vulnerability.

but you didn’t reply, feet digging firmly to the soft blades of the grass underneath.

“is it because I like you?”

both of your hands that was wrapped around your shoulders as well as your heart dropped— instantly beating as fast as a bullet train.

“are you sure? cause you have a weird way of showing it.” you grimaced.

his face twisted to a confused look, stepping a little closer to where you were.

“can you tell me the times on how I made you feel that way?” he asked softly, patience almost a hundred percent not given to no one else.

“well first of all this morning you were annoyed at me.”

“I wasn’t. that damned pikachu just put me in a sour mood.”

“I guess he does that often to you. but you also left me to cut most of the vegetables when you were assigned to do it with me.” you reasoned warily.

“what?” he asked, stilling in his spot.

“oh don’t act like you weren’t— hagakure told me so!”

“well she was dead wrong because I was assigned on water duty.”

“what?”

“yeah but that trio of dumbasses kept bothering me to— they kept bothering me to switch with that zappy idiot.” he answered almost like he came to a revelation.

“then what about during the water fight? you were definitely targeting me!”

“only because I didn’t want you on tails’ shoulder as long as you already have.”

“well you described your crush just a couple minutes ago.”

“yeah.” he nodded looking at your pouty face, eyes wobbling near close to tears.

“you said they were cute.” you said sharply, eyes finally meeting his gaze that was fully set on you.

“you are.” he said as if it was a world known fact.

“what?”

“who did you think I was talking about?”

“It’s not uraraka?” you asked to confirm.

“no dumbass. it’s always been you.” he answered pulling you in his arms.

“you’re the dummy!” you yelled sinking further in his chest.

“we can be dumb together then.” he murmured as he rest his chin on top of your head.

the moment being serene and peaceful until a soft cheer could be heard from the bushes.

“woohoo.”

“shut up—“

“can you get new friends?” bakugou asked, eyes shut firmly with a familiar frown.

“I’m sure they mean well.” you muttered, smiling slightly.

“aren’t we your friends too bakubro?!”

“NOT AFTER THE BULLSHIT YOU ALL PULLED— ALMOST MADE ME LOSE MY DAMN GIRL!! FUCK OFF!” he scowled, turning to the culprits as he aimed with his hand burning a familiar glow.

“BAKUGOU NO— WE’RE SORRY!!”

boom.

— MISSION SUCCESS

@windyremedy

[sleepymarimo]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦!

zoro x fem!afab!reader // sfw

synopsis: carrying your third and last baby, you start to get ticked off by some of the comments being made…

a.n. reader is preggo!! you already have two daughters with the marimo!! girl dad zoro for the win!! PS I’m on mobile and will have to add dividers later so bear with me pls thank you!!

it had taken a fair bit of effort to convince 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 to allow you and the girls to have a day off.

actually, with you seven months pregnant, it might as well have been a miracle. however, the sunny had been docked on this island for well over a week now, its calm conditions and docile people making for an easy stay.

your five year old walks ahead, thinking she’s leading the charge, while your three year old clings to her sister’s hand. a smile graces your face. you definitely see their father in them, whether it’s in the form a determined grin or a sharp gaze toward a stranger.

when the younger one pleads for an ice cream, you oblige and direct them toward a quaint looking shop.

that’s where the problems start.

after taking a seat at a table outside, an older woman catches a glimpse of you and the girls. her smile is sincere, but her comment is unwarranted.

“oh my! I bet dad is hoping for a boy, isn’t he?”

you figure “oh what the hell, she’s old”, and offer her a faux smile before taking a few licks of your ice cream. once she’s out of sight, your smile drops and you maybe roll your eyes, but forget about the incident.

it happens again though, the next time being at a blacksmith’s shop.

the girls know better than to touch anything, instead opting to stare at their reflections on the fine blades while you pay for a rather high quality polish. it’s a gift for your husband, your way of thanking him for letting you have this day to yourself and your daughters.

the blacksmith, a stocky man with a bit of an accent, get the polish into a bag and notices the girls roaming the aisles. “ha! hopefully you have a little man to carry dad’s name!”

you think your eye twitches, maybe it doesn’t, but you smile all the same and have to refrain from snatching the bag out of his fingers.

whether or not you were having a boy doesn’t really cross your mind— it hasn’t crossed your mind until today, apparently. healthy and happy. that’s all you want!

despite the wonderful weather and the taste of ice cream still on your tongue, you can’t help but feel irritated. the words worm into your brain. did zoro want a boy?

you shake your head and press on, ushering the girls toward a clothing shop for infants. with a few neutral colored onesies in your basket, you pause to admire another one.

an attendant approaches, light and bubbly. “how cute!” she compliments the selection in your possession, looks toward the girls, then your bump. “aw, hopefully you can complete your little family! here.”

she picks out a blue onesie and hands it to you, the implication clear.

through some miracle of maternal grace, you buy what you need without driving your knuckles into her nose.

you think that maybe you should’ve stayed on the ship.

- - -

on the deck of the sunny, zoro waits like the most loyal of companions. his good eye watches the sunset and he knows you’ll be back soon, along with his little warriors.

he smirks when he sees the three of you in the distance, hopping off the ship and landing with an astounding ease.

you give the girls the all clear and they make for their father, their laughter and excited squeals filling the air.

“hey, runts,” he greets, gruff but warm, all fatherly instinct as he scoops them up in a protective hold. “you give my wife any trouble out there?”

the two shake their heads and zoro nods in approval before meeting you halfway. he’s perceptive, that damn marimo, and his brows furrow. at the very least he can tell that whatever’s pissed you off is something to be discussed later.

so, following a straw hat family dinner, the girls are finally tucked into bed and he cautiously trails after you.

you’ve been in a funk for almost the whole night, that’s for sure. you sit on the bed and kick off your shoes, a hand on your full stomach while you sulk.

“seems like an eventful day,” he comments, almost dryly, though he’s clearly opening up the field for conversation. he takes a seat next to you on the bed, his shoulder firm and strong against yours.

for a second you just purse your lips, maybe puff your cheeks. you know you shouldn’t let the words of strangers get to you, but maybe these pregnancy hormones are just wrecking havoc on your system.

it’s silent for another moment, then it’s broken.

“do you want a boy?” you blurt, maybe a bit more defensive than intended.

his nose wrinkles and he looks at you funny. truthfully, he didn’t expect such an inquiry. the way you frame it makes it seem like an accusation or something. “eh? what are you talking about?”

you have to take a breath, remember that this is your husband. he might lack some understanding when it comes to the more touchy feely things, but he’s got a heart of gold.

“some people in town,” you start, a bit embarrassed about being effected by their comments, “they were saying things about how ‘dad probably wants a boy!’ and ‘hopefully dad can pass on his legacy!’ and stuff like that.”

your cheeks warm and you sigh, resisting the urge to get any more worked up about it. “so do you?” you ask him, head tilted as you wait for his response.

zoro’s expression goes from one of confusion to one of mild irritation, but settles into a quiet contemplation. “don’t let idiots fill your head with things,” he cautions as a general piece of advice, encouraging you to stick to your guns. “and don’t let ‘em talk for me, either.”

he looks from you to your bump, maybe grunting in approval when he sees a kick from the little one. “legacy,” he mumbles, rolling his eye. “what, like a family name? titles don’t mean crap if there’s nothing to back it up. my girls are already swinging swords like their dad. my girls are tough like their mom. that’s legacy, woman.”

you let out a laugh, feeling the once tumultuous waters of your brain settle into something more gentle. allowing yourself a moment, you take a deep breath. “yeah, that’s true,” you relent, still looking down at your bump.

zoro isn’t entirely convinced, nudging your shoulder with his. “oi, stop with the looking sorry for yourself,” he gently commands, leaning in so that his chin rests near your temple. “as long as the kid’s got some of me, some of you, that’s all that matters. they get our blood, our spirit, alright? we said happy and healthy, so forget the rest of the noise.”

when he talks in such a way, it makes your heart swell. you smile and lean into him, your body relaxing significantly.

“so what if they don’t wanna be swordswomen?” you playfully ask, testing his boundaries.

he lets out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a scoff, a smirk on his face. “tch, now you’re just talkin’ crazy, wife.”

two months later, when girl number three makes herself known, zoro is the pinnacle of paternal pride.

the little one wails and wails, curls into your embrace, and the swordsman feels the same level of joy he felt with his first. it’s another life to care for, to cultivate, to send into the world.

he gives a half smile when he extends a finger and the girl wraps her hand around it in a strong hold. zoro memorizes her touch, memorizes it in the same way he’s memorized his other two daughters’, his wife’s, and the hilts of very blades he always carries.

“heh, just wait,” he gets out, low and full of emotion. “you’re gonna be a natural, pipsqueak.”

thank you for reading!! :)

[miserycanary]

BREAK MY HEART INTO TWO ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost has been feeling pissed off lately, and happens to lash out on you

tags: slight angst, misunderstandings, very slight mention of violence

He knew he was not in the right headspace. With the newly added task of training new recruits, the dead-end mission, and overall exhaustion. Ghost could feel his patience nearing nothing and he could feel it in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from lashing out soon— even if it was you. 

That’s why he started to distance himself and avoid you like the plague. Only responding with grunts or one-word answers. It’s not the best action but he couldn’t think of anything else. Despite the frustration clouding his mind, he still vows to never hurt you. He promised you that; reassured you that he would never ever raise his voice at you, his hand stroking your back and kissing your temple, after you told him about your past one drunken night. 

The first time Simon came home and didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, you knew something was up. You didn’t push the matter though. Brushing it off as something trivial and proceeding to go your usual routine. You did notice things that you never brought up with him: heavy footsteps, the lack of teasing from him, and uncharacteristically never clinging onto you  

What finally pushed you to visit the base was when Si, your husband who would go through all levels of hell just to be close to you and never lets a night pass without you with him in bed, suddenly tells you he will be sleeping on the couch. It baffled you. This is the same man who wrapped all his limbs around to keep you from leaving after a big fight. The same man that acts like a big baby when you tell him you’re gonna be away on a work event. Suddenly, the idea of him getting bored of you and finding entertainment with another woman intrusively swirled in your mind. 

Were you too loud? Too chatty? Clingy? Maybe you didn’t satisfy him enough. Maybe he wanted a wife available to always cook for him after work. It scared you. You love him; love him enough to change just to keep him.

You needed to talk to him. Whether he likes it or not. 

“Price, please. Just call him for me?” The captain looks at you, hesitating. Even though he was aware of Ghost’s thinning temper and didn’t want to put his comrade’s wife in a position that could result in a fight, he also knew that you needed to solve this. He scratches his beard, nervously looking at you. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. The man.. he.. he hasn’t been the best these days? Maybe you should go home and wait for him—“. You cut him off, “he doesn’t want to talk to me! Please, just 5 minutes and I won’t even cause a scene. I promise!” With a sigh, he finally relents and tells you to stay there while he calls for your husband. You crack a smile, nodding and feeling a sense of relief wash over you. 

Moments after being alone, a new recruit (you assume considering you’ve never met this man nor did Simon ever mention him) approaches you with a low wolf whistle. His hands find your waist before you can even comprehend what’s happening, pulling you close to his chest. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” You freeze, and disgust starts to bubble up inside of you. You plant your hand on his chest in an attempt to pull away in fear that Simon would witness this and think differently. Before you could say to leave you alone, a voice booms out. A voice you know too well. 

“Y/N!” Simon takes three strides and he was near enough to pull the recruit away from you and land a punch. Scandalous gasps went around while the yells of other members went inaudible to you. You stood there in horror as Price stepped in, pushing Ghost away and yelling to stand down. This was not your Simon. Your Simon would never be this violent in front of you— he was too scared to frighten you and do something to push you away. These weren’t the same hands carried you as if a delicate flower he plucked as well. The hands that routinely offers to brush your hair every night and washes you every sex session while he kisses your shoulders, showering you with endless praise with a voice filled with adoration.

Ghost whips his head. His cold stare made you falter, taking a step back. Something you never thought you’d do when faced with him. You could see his mask move, undoubtedly hiding his disappointment and furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing here?” He seethes, roughly gripping your arm tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I-I... I wanted to see you—“ Before you could even finish, Ghost groans with frustration. “I fucking told you to not come to the base. Were you even thinking? Use that pea-sized brain of yours once in a while! Just.. leave me alone and go home.”

Silence. The whole base quiets down with his words, a tense atmosphere building up. You freeze. From the corner of your eye, you notice Price’s contort with concern and hesitation if he should meddle. 

The pain you felt was indescribable. It was as if Ghost took your heart and crushed it with his bare hands. Your breathing got labored, your eyes flicked down, taking deep breaths to hold back tears. Before the realization has fully settled, you pull away from Ghost, mumbling something incoherent. In that moment, Ghost knew he fucked up. He hurt his darling flower. He hurt the only person he treasured. The person that stayed with him through thick and thin. The person he married, vowed in front of God to love forever and to never hurt. 

“No, baby— I didn’t mean to—“

You cut him off, telling him you were going back just like he wanted. You didn’t even call it your home. You always do. Saying it with pride to have something to call home with him. 

God, what has he done? 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: dare I say this man needs a break :} Second part is out. Little detail: I use ‘Simon’ during Y/N’s pov and Ghost for the rest, but used Ghost for her after he yelled at her. :3

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[nerdygirlramblings]

a continuation of my ancient gods drabble

In the days following your sacrifice, the rains abated enough for the ground to begin to recover from years of want. Cool mud formed where only cracks had existed, and the once fallow fields began to take on life once more. You sent up a prayer to Gaz and a thanks, for clearly without his intercession there would be no ground in which Tav's harvest could take root. Word comes to the village that fighting is slowly ceasing as warriors make their way home to plant the soon to be ready fields. You thank both Jon and the god of death for sparing your people further devastation.

The morning after your sacrifice you kept to your house, unsure of what to make of the new marks on your skin. By the time you finally ventured out to see the people, it was clear to them a change had been wrought in you. It wasn't simply the marks they could see but a distant way in which you carried yourself, part of them still but separate now. They approached you with more caution, wary yet full of wonder. No one knew exactly what you had done, and even you weren't clear on what had happened that night, but the people knew that you were going to try to save them. And all that mattered to them was that something worked. So when you approached the village elders with your request to build new shrines to those ancient gods, no one felt they could deny you, whether out of obligation to you or true belief in what you were talking about.

Slowly, four new shrines are erected in the space between where houses stop and the fields and scrubland start. You work hard to ensure what is built matches the images in the ancient texts as best as possible. Gaz's altar is a simple, sturdy table. For Jon, you convince the smith to shape broken weapons into an altar. A few of your people willingly donate pieces of their beds or old cradles for Tav's altar. You do not seek real bones for the altar of the god of death, hopeful the carvings you create to mimic bone is enough.

Before your sacrifice, you used to help members of the village with their chores. Now your people leave you to work on the shrines and give thanks to the gods who saved them.

Every night, you sleep fitfully, waking to fragments of dreams that feel more and more real. The taste of blood, thick and metallic, clings to the back of your throat. The scent of herbs and spices floats off your clothes. Your thighs shake with exertion as you move about the village. Unmistakable purpling bruises wreath your neck.

Each time you dream, the scenes seem to blend and blur one into the other. Spectral skeletons gather at the edge of the battlefield. The clash and clang of swords sounds in the distance while you gorge yourself on roasted meats. The scents of fresh bread and ripe fruit are carried on the wind as you're fucked into the warm ground.

Whispers chase you into wakefulness, murmurs about "worship" and "growing stronger" and a clear "our wife." None of it makes sense. But you cannot shake the feeling that something more is coming, that another change, greater than that which has already occurred, is on the horizon.

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series masterlist | main masterlist

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Dan Feng x Reader

You stood before the Lucky Egg Dispenser. One pull. One egg. People swore by it, miraculous companions, rare creatures with mystical abilities. Some even whispered about something more. You hadn’t believed it. Not until you got one.

At first, it was just an egg, smooth, cool to the touch, its deep azure surface streaked with faint golden veins. For three days, it sat in your apartment, resting on a pillow beneath the soft glow of a bedside lamp.

Then, it hatched.

And the first thing you saw were cyan eyes, glowing like captured starlight. Most people received small, harmless creatures: foxlike beings, glowing fish, even tiny floating wisps of light. Instead, curled amidst the shattered remnants of the shell, was a man.

His long, dark hair cascaded down his back in flowing silken strands. His pale jade antler-like horns gleamed under the soft light, an ethereal contrast to his sharp, almost inhuman pointed ears. His robes, a pristine blend of white, silver, and intricate teal embroidery, draped over his lean yet powerful frame, giving him an air of royalty, as if he had stepped out of some long-forgotten legend. A single red earring dangled from his right ear, swaying gently.

But what held you frozen were his cyan eyes, sharp and penetrating, gleaming with something unreadable. Something ancient. Something dangerous.

He moved towards you. His grip was gentle yet unyielding as his hand cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze fully.

"You are the first thing I have seen." he murmured.

His thumb brushed over your lips. "That means you are mine."

Finally, you got him to sit. You sat opposite him, keeping a cautious distance. The man studied his surroundings with the quiet grace of someone who had seen worlds beyond this one.

"You may call me Dan Feng" he said smoothly, his voice carrying an old-world elegance.

You hesitated before responding with your own name, unsure of what to make of him.

"Do you... have hobbies? Things you enjoy?" you asked, attempting to keep the conversation light.

Dan Feng tilted his head slightly, contemplating the question. "Reading ancient texts. Chess. Refining my abilities. Battle."

That last word made you tense slightly.

Before you could respond, you got up to fetch him a drink, only to trip over your own feet.

Time seemed to slow. A surge of energy crackled through the air, and before you could hit the ground, you found yourself suspended midair, a soft glowing force wrapped around you.

Dan Feng hadn’t moved an inch. Yet, his magic had caught you effortlessly.

"You have magic?" you asked in awe, as he gently set you upright.

His lips curled into an amused smile. "Of course. Did you expect otherwise?"

The moment left you shaken but also intrigued. You had to know the extent of his abilities. So you took him to a weapon shop.

In this world, people trained to farm levels and increase their stats through dungeons. Power meant survival, and you needed to understand exactly what he was capable of. Dan Feng examined the weapons with idle curiosity before selecting a blade—a long, ornate spear. The moment he lifted it, the air around you shifted. With a single, precise swing, the spear cleaved the reinforced training dummy clean in half.

The shopkeeper gaped. You swallowed hard.

Dan Feng lowered the weapon, looking wholly unimpressed by his own strength. As if it was trivial.

He turned to you, eyes glowing softly. "Satisfied? I can use pretty much any weapon in this place."

You weren’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified.

From the moment he hatched, he never left your side. At first, you assumed it was natural. A newly born creature clinging to its first bond. But this was no ordinary attachment. He was always there.

A silent, watchful presence in your home. In your dreams. When you awoke, he was there, seated gracefully by your bedside, watching with an unreadable gaze. When you left for work, his figure lingered just outside, eyes never straying from you.

Your phone? Constantly buzzing. Unread messages. Missed calls.

Dan Feng. Dan Feng. Dan Feng.

You started locking your doors.

They always unlocked themselves.

One night, you tried sneaking out, he found you before you reached the next street.

"Why do you run?"

His voice was calm, almost amused. Yet the air around him grew heavy, pressing against your lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his robes barely stirring.

"You called me into existence" he murmured, lifting your chin once more. "You do not abandon what you have created."

The next day, you searched for someone skilled enough to play chess with him. A strategic game like that might hold his attention. As he sat, moving his pieces with unnerving precision, you stood behind him, studying his every move, intrigued by his intelligence. His plays were ruthless, methodical. He was brilliant.

When you turned to leave after his next match, you felt his fingers encircle your wrist again. You swore he had been fully focused on the board.

“Where are you going?” he asked smoothly.

You forced a smile. “Just getting you something to drink.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before releasing you.

You returned not just with food and drink, but with a friend you had met at the dungeon.

Dan Feng finished his match earlier than expected.

Before you could react, he was by your side, his hand resting lightly on your back as he steered you away from the others. “It’s late” he murmured. “I will lead you home.”

The next morning, you noticed something was off. Dan Feng's usual poised demeanor was replaced with a subtle lethargy, his forehead warm to the touch. A fever?

You immediately took it upon yourself to care for him, dampening a cloth to press against his forehead and making him herbal tea. Though he allowed your ministrations, there was an unreadable expression in his eyes, as if he were watching you, studying you, but unwilling to say something. His breathing grew steadier under your care, but exhaustion eventually took its toll on you. As night fell, you drifted into sleep beside him.

By the time you awoke, he was gone.

Panic surged through you. The idea of someone taking advantage of him or worse, attempting to capture and sell him due to his rare nature propelled you into action. You traced his presence back to a nearby dungeon, where an eerie sight awaited you.

The creatures inside weren’t attacking him. They were bowing. Dan Feng stood among them, his form partially transformed. His antlers glowed brightly, his once-hidden dragon-like tail illuminated by an ethereal light. Power radiated from him in waves, his presence commanding absolute authority. Whatever he was doing, it was deliberate—perhaps an attempt to regulate his strength, to return to his usual form without alarming you.

You confronted him, your voice sharp with concern. “What are you doing?”

He turned to you, unbothered by your presence. “Releasing excess energy. I did not wish to frighten you.”

His nonchalance infuriated you. “You disappeared without a word. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Something flickered in his gaze, amusement, perhaps. Then, to your utter disbelief, he chuckled.

“You followed me,” he mused, stepping closer. “Because you were worried.”

You clenched your fists. “Of course, I was! You were feverish, and then you vanished!”

Instead of acknowledging your frustration, he merely brushed his fingers against your cheek, the heat of his touch lingering. “How endearing,” he murmured. “But unnecessary.”

You glared at him, unamused. “You don’t get to decide that.”

For a moment, he simply stared at you, then let out a low, indulgent sigh. “Very well” he said, as if entertaining a fleeting whim. “Next time, I shall wake you.”

You were relieved when Dan Feng eventually returned to his normal form, but curiosity still lingered in your mind. While he was cooking, or at least attempting to, since you had been teaching him—you found yourself watching him closely. His movements were precise, yet slightly hesitant, as if he were still adjusting to the task. The soft glow of the kitchen lanterns reflected in his eyes, making him appear even more ethereal than usual.

Acting on impulse, you suddenly reached out and touched his antler-like horns. The texture was smoother than you expected, but before you could fully process the sensation, his entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. His hands fumbled with the kitchen knife, and a sharp inhale escaped his lips.

“Ah—!” His voice was higher than usual, laced with genuine surprise and something else you couldn't quite place. His ears twitched violently, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He turned sharply, swatting your hand away as his tail flicked behind him with a barely contained shudder.

You blinked, taken aback by the uncharacteristic reaction. "I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you," you quickly stammered, raising both hands in surrender. "I won’t do that again."

Danfeng cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. His eyes remained averted, but the pink dusting his face lingered stubbornly. "Good." His tone was firm, but the way he slightly shifted away from you spoke volumes.

Deciding not to push further, you allowed the moment to pass, though the curiosity still gnawed at you. On a more positive note, Dan Feng had started gaining friends through chess matches, and you were relieved to see him socializing beyond just clinging to you. Still, something about his past lingered in your thoughts, the way he had spoken about ‘battles’ when you first met.

Your suspicions solidified when you both realized you were running low on points for trading. A dungeon run was the most efficient way to replenish them, so you ventured inside together. That was when you finally understood the depth of his strength. The dungeon was teeming with creatures—some of them towering behemoths with godlike power, but none of them stood a chance.

Dan Feng didn’t just defeat them—he annihilated them with terrifying precision. His water magic twisted into elegant but deadly formations, cutting through enemies with almost artistic grace. Massive hydra-like beings fell within seconds, their roars of defiance silenced as waves crushed them into the ground. The air became thick with mist, swirling around him like a deity descending upon a battlefield.

Watching him fight was both mesmerizing and unsettling. His expression never wavered, calm, composed, and yet, there was something disturbingly natural about the way he wielded destruction. It was then you realized Dan Feng wasn't just powerful. He was something beyond that.

As the dungeon’s final enemy fell, the air shimmered, and a chest materialized before you. It was rare to see such a reward, so both you and Dan Feng approached with caution. You hesitated for a moment before lifting the lid together. Inside, nestled within the chest’s velvet-lined interior, were two items: a gleaming sword and an ornate ring.

You both examined the sword first. It was well-crafted, its blade humming faintly with residual energy, but neither of you used swords. After a brief discussion, you decided to sell it to the weapon merchant upon returning to town. However, when you reached for the ring, Danfeng’s hand moved faster, snatching it up before you could inspect it properly.

“I’ll keep this” he stated firmly, slipping it into his sleeve before you could protest.

You let it go for the moment, though curiosity gnawed at you. Dan Feng was not one to act so possessively over mere trinkets, and yet there was a glint in his eyes that you had never seen before.

Later that evening, while he busied himself with something in the kitchen, you caught sight of him turning the ring over in his hands, his thumb brushing over the intricate engravings with something close to reverence. When he noticed your gaze, he merely smirked and pocketed it once more, offering no explanation.

It wasn’t until much later, when the ring’s magic revealed itself—that you understood exactly why he had insisted on keeping it. When you woke up one morning, your wrist felt oddly warm, a faint golden glow emanating from it. You gasped as you realized a faint, ethereal chain connected you to Danfeng, who stood at the doorway watching you with an unreadable expression.

“You belong to me now” he murmured, his voice calm but firm. “This ring binds us together. No more sneaking away, no more hiding.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest as you stared at him, realization dawning. The ring wasn’t just a trinket, it was a claim. And you had unknowingly let him seal your fate.

[rinnstars]

love locket!

keeping you in his locket when he can’t keep you with him by his hand

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble, comfort, longing, established rs, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated!

rin remembers the first time you clicked the chain around his neck, a cold metallic string stinging his skin with its low temperature in contrast to his burning and red neck from the lack of distance between the two of you, hands fiddling with the heart locket at the front, looking up at the glittering heart underneath the low lights of your bedroom.

rin has never been too much of an accessory person, it’s a trouble he thinks, removing it before games and whatnot - discarded watches by his water bottle that gets left in the dust of his bedroom stand, hair pins requested by his teachers that get lost in the mess of his bag that are long forgotten by the time he steps on field, glasses that he finds little use for that he leaves in his case in a random drawer when he already has you. but rin supposes, it wont be too much - when he looks at your pleading face and lets the necklace hang around his neck, almost as though your icy hands are wrapping around his neck as you always do from the back. and he’s not too surprised when you open the locket cheekily and place that mini polaroid of you and him into the small heart locket: its characteristic of you, doing things like this. and its certainly no trouble when he thinks of the assosciation, that youre always with him in the little necklace he’s sure he’ll wear every second of his life, that you’re never too far in contrast to everyone who feels like they’re a million kilometers away, that youre his heart that keeps him breathing.

he likes it. strangely enough. rin likes the way the silver heart locket looks in contrast to his black uniform, black hair, and black shoes as though youre right on him, he likes the way it feels comforting when he holds it as though he’s holding you that warms his fragile heart, he likes the way it clicks open easily for him to glance at you and him whenever you can’t be with him: different classes, different clubs, different release time and what not. and rin thinks he learns something too: he learns that he likes your face a little too much that it resembles an art piece to him with the way his fingers traces softly along your features, something that he knows he’s too flustered to do in real life, he learns that this might be his new lucky charm with the way he kisses both the polaroid inside and the heart locket before each game and wins whenever he does so, he learns too that he’s strangely protective over it, using his hand to protect it and holding onto the back click of it whenever he feels it weaken a little and eventually fixing it in his bedroom late at night despite his strict schedule set for himself.

a simple gesture of love turns out to be his saving grace. rin’s never being that clingy he thinks - ignoring the way he practically clings to you like a koala bear and drools in his sleep whenever he naps with you after school before football club starts, ignoring the way he interlocks your hands and his whenever youre outside with him whether on an actual date or just walking home with him, ignoring the way he can’t stop refreshing your social media pages and messages for a hint of you. but yet, when he’s stuck here all alone in the blue lock, he’s never been more grateful for this little locket that keeps him sane. like a prayer, rin looks at that photo of you, memorising the smile lines on your face that he thinks resemble the finest museum pieces, the crescent shaped eyes that closes whenever you beam this bright like the sun of his universe, as though feeling that same arm in the picture that wraps around the him in the photo in real life too — when he goes to bed in pure darkness with only his ipad brightness underneath the blankets and wake up inconspicuously away from his roommates prying eyes, before, with nerves all jittery underneath the facade he shows with water drank still dripping down his mouth that he’s so used to you wiping away and after each match in the locker room, sweat dripping down his face and neck, his head dizzy with adrenaline still pumping through him as he shakily opens the locket and unconsciously smiles at your face, before and after he eats as though grateful for you to providing him food. rin wonders if you’re doing the same - looking through the piles of photos you hogged as though a squirrel before winter of him: candid photos, 0.5x zoom photos, couple photos, refreshing his chats waiting for him desperately to reply like a lovesick fool too, fiddling with that identical matching heart locket featuring the exact same photo.

rin wonders too: in the future, would it still be the same? when he’s overseas playing, will he too do the same? treating this heart locket like a secret treasure, opening it day and night and having to find someone to eventually fix it when the heart disconnects from the chain with the amount of times he opens it as though he’s a lonely maiden waiting for you to come home from war in the past history, treating his heart locket as another extension of oyu with the way he caresses it with his fingers, kissing the photo delicately and wiping carefully any stains that lingers on the metal: things that he’s too shy he thinks to do, treating his heart locket as you practically, whispering unsaid confessions and words at night while holding the heart locket right to his heart as though swearing an oath.

you and him are still young: rin knows this. yet, he can’t help but feel helpless this way. insecurities — whilst youre out with your friends from school during this holiday going to malls, beaches, sleepovers and whatnot, he’s trapped in this facility that feels more and more claustrophobic each day. will you forget him one day? will he one day be forced to choose between you and his passion? and hes back to opening that love locket for reassurance: that you gave this to him because you love him, because you don’t want him to miss you too much over this break, because you want him to remember you the way he needs you to remember him. if anything, he still feels like the teenager in love with you: it was just yesterday to rin that he confessed to you right in your bedroom that hes been in since he was a little kid as though a second room for him lying right beside you, not even fully understanding the word yet, it was just yesterday to rin when he cried for the first time in his life right outside your doorstep as he felt your arms wrapped around him as snow falls on both of you: and he swears you were his angel that night, and it was just yesterday that you sent him off to this blue lock facility for one chance in succeeding in this shared dream of you and rin.

and when your hands finally wrapped around him, for the first time, rin lets down his pride and whatever that’s left of him after that humiliating defeat by yoichi, and throws himself on you, wrapping his arms uncharacteristically around you. he doesn’t hesitate either this time, his hands lingering and tracing your arms, and then your face as he leans in: studying and comparing your new changes in contrast to that polaroid in his heart locket: your cheeks have gotten chubbier, your hair has grown a little longer and curlier during the break, and you’ve gotten a new pair of coat in contrast to the usual white coat you sport. and things he doesn’t do: pressing a kiss on your lips and melting right into it just as he did when he kisses your polaroid before and after each match, melting into the way your still cold hands wraps around his very being just like how it was right in that polaroid, looking at you with the same amount of lovesickness in his eyes the same way it was captured in that polaroid. right now, youre real: youre not just a polaroid in his heart locket, and he prefers that.

rin doesn’t mind being embarrassing or cringe: he just wants you. no heart locket could replace you, he thinks. you’ve changed so much just in a few months, and he loathes the fact that he didn’t see it happen: when you first learnt how to curl your hair, when you first bought your new coat, when you first started playing that game you text him about. and he knows it’ll be all he feels: when he leaves japan to pursue his dreams: he’ll miss your graduation possibly with games going on the same time as then, he’ll miss you turning eighteen too and same with you when he turns eighteen in a locker room preparing for another match, nd he’ll miss anniversaries physically, only calling you and buying you gifts from afar. and he hates that, he hates it like a little kid, he hates this yearning and longing and burning in his heart.

and he thinks, a love locket isn’t enough. hes always too much: as a kid when he destroys his and others toys in the playground and at home, as a teen when no one else caught up to his instinct on field, as a teen with too much baggage and personality for his peers to get to know beneath the surface. its selfish: rin wants to grow old with you: he wants this to last an eternity — hell, he doesn’t mind tying the knot now, make a paper ring the same ways he did right in class unknowing of this love burning in his chest, and maybe on impulse to give up his whole career and aspiration just for him to be able to stay.

but for now, he’ll smile and kiss you right as the polaroid goes off: tucking the paper right in his now slightly rusted love locket.

[dayndream]

✸ THIGH RIDING

NSFW — MDNI. Pretty self-explanatory. Obviously time skip. Warnings: None, just them being needy tbh, and Tetsu being a bit of a tease ofc. <3 Part two here.

Includes: KUROO, ATSUMU, IWAZUMI, BOKUTO x fem reader.

𖤩 KUROO TETSUROU

“Come on, pretty, that's all you've got?”, his lips curved in an annoying smile while lifting your face to look at your eyes. His mocking, yet adoring, gaze directly on you created an electric shock on your spine, making you arch your back and press your bare chest on his—skin to skin. That sudden contact only caused another moan to escape your lips, making him ask himself whether he should keep on teasing you, or to ruin you already. Always such a hard decision for him—he loves hearing you like this, watching you get needier, losing more of your self-control with every second, just begging him with pleading eyes to take you and do whatever he wants with you, but he is also impatient to do so. Yet, he leaned back, resting his body weight on his hands, thinking that waiting a little longer wouldn't hurt none of you, enjoying with lustful eyes the view of you greedily rubbing your throbbing pussy against him, tits bouncing with every move and legs already trembling. Your climax was approaching, but you knew for sure you wouldn't be able to reach it without his help. “Need you, Tetsu, please... Please”, you couldn't stop yourself from repeating like a prayer that last word, to which he flicked his tongue, grabbing your waist before closing the distance in between your bodies, hungrily kissing you as he finally gave in to you plea.

𖤩 MIYA ATSUMU

His hands traveled down to your thighs as he couldn't help but to drool over the way you were moving your hips, making him pant and bite his lower lip right after. He wants you bouncing on his cock already, but he can't lose yet, not when you were teasing him during the previous minutes about how you knew he wouldn't resist as much as you. It was a competition, and his ego was his only motor, but how could he not swoon for your pretty moans? To the way you were calling his name in a soft, breathy voice right into his ear. Fuck, he really didn't want to lose, but you're just too irresistible to him. That's when one of his hands reached his aching dick, stroking it up and down until you took his hands to place them on your breasts. “No cheating, Tsumu”, you said with furrowed eyebrows and a little pout on your lips. “But I need you so bad, babe”, he answered with a desperate look on his face—frustrated, to which you questioned if he admitted defeat, driving him over the edge of madness. “I'll show you what a real victory is”, he spat out, shifting positions in a skilled movement to have you underneath of his built body, completely at his mercy. There's no escape now, but it's not like you wanted any.

𖤩 IWAZUMI HAJIME

His hands were placed on your hips, guiding your every move against him, admiring your figure while licking his lips. “Yeah, princess, just like that”, he said while breathing heavily, almost panting. His patience was running out, and you could see it in his face, in the way he was biting and licking his lips again and again, even in the way he was talking to you with that desperate, husky voice, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and piercing eyes, which were able to watch only you, itching to delight himself with the view of you all messed up for him, just because of him. Your pretty moans, the way you were clinging tight on his biceps, on his shoulders, searching for an extra support, almost digging your nails on his skin; of course you knew you were driving him insane, draining his patience, testing it, but that's exactly what you desired—what you needed. His lips got pressed against your chest, going up to your neck to leave multiple kisses on it, licking your skin in between them. Your moans turned into messy whimpers, and that's when he snapped—leaving you underneath of him on the bed as he tracked down some more kisses on you, starting to rub his fingers against your needy cunt in a circular motion, rapidly leading you to your orgasm before making you his once again.

𖤩 BOKUTO KOUTAROU

He is completely lost in you, in the way you roll your hips back and forth, leaving a sticky trace on his thigh. Both his mind and vision were blurry, only being able to concentrate in you and how insane you were driving him merely by riding him like that. He needs you, his whole body is craving you. His hands grabbing your hips almost violently—you're sure they'll leave bruises, but the dopamine makes you enjoy that hurting pleasure. “Please, baby... Give me more—need you”, he whimpers, heavily breathing into your neck before kissing it, sucking on the skin and leaving loving bites on you. It was his idea to have you like that, but seems like he is the one who's about to lose the last strand of sanity first. The only reason why he's still resisting the burning urge of throwing you onto the mattress and fucking you like there's no tomorrow is because he knows you enjoy watching him that needy just for you, and he would do anything for your pleasure, to satisfy you, even if his leaking cock is twitching to get some of your attention, which you'll soon do, right? You wouldn't be that much of a meanie to those golden puppy eyes of his, eagerly begging to feel you—to fill you, would you?

Memorabilia Passage.

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